Memorabilia
by Apostate-Mage-Lyra
Summary: The story of a troubled sorceress and a king torn bwteen duty and love.
1. Prelude

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Dragon Age or any of its characters, Bioware does.

Merely months had passed since the blight and Wynne had to recount her adventures in great detail, to a most unlikely audience. It was surprising how her own memory of the events of the recent past, the ones that had seemed so deeply etched, were in truth not as clear as she had hoped. Nevertheless she remembered the important events and could manage to satiate the curiosity of her impatient listener.

Narrating a tale spanning a little more than a year was no easy task, however. Every little slip up was enough to incite a question from the listener. But, thank the Maker, for Wynne was still sharp as ever – ready with logical explanations or at least convincing excuses, and the storytelling had come to an end in a few hours.

The listener was visibly baffled. The account narrated by Wynne, was nothing short of a fairytale. She said, "You do realize, senior enchanter, that your story is far too fantastical to be true, don't you?"

"Yes I do realize that. But all of that does not change the fact that it is real. All of what I have said is true. You, Solona Amell, are the Hero of Ferelden and you did all of it."

Solona clearly dismissed Wynne's words as falsehoods – "If I really did find the sacred ashes of Andraste, or give Orzammar its new king, or find the paragon Branka, or, as you claim, defeat the Archdemon, I think I would have at least some recollection of it. Wouldn't you?"

Wynne did not know how to cope with this new situation. Merely months had passed since the Blight and Wynne had found herself in the midst of a new kind of crisis – "Maker help me, I am too old for this," she said with a sigh.


	2. Chapter 1 : Dreams

"Come to me," said a voice out in the distant darkness. It was slow, desirous and enticing.

"Come to me," it said once again, only louder this time.

Solona Amell was looking in every direction but she could only see vast stretches of twisted trees and strange terrain. It was the Fade, the one place where demons roamed free, preying upon the weak and weary. She was dreaming, but something was not right. These strange dreams had begun about a week or so ago. Demons called, but never showed themselves. At first it was a rage demon, trying to inspire anger, distrust and anguish; then it was a sloth demon, singing the praises of a blissful dreamless sleep and now it was a desire demon, beckoning, calling out and seeking to lure its target with promises of unimaginable pleasure. But they were not calling out to her. Solona was certain. If she was their target, then they would have shown themselves and would have attempted to converse with her and trap her. She only ever heard voices, distant echoes trying to proposition someone. Whenever she dreamt she could see no other dreamer in the fade, yet, the fact that she heard these voices without ever seeing the demons in their true form suggested that she was not the one they were after. Then, to whom were they calling out?

She walked further trying to find the source of the voices. She decided that the game had to end. Either the demon would die for attempting to play tricks on her, or she would end up becoming an abomination. The latter was less likely, considering that Solona was a harrowed mage, strong willed and well versed in the ways of the demons. All the senior mages in the Circle Tower of Ferelden held her in high regard. She was intelligent, knowledgeable and she had become very powerful over the past months of fighting darkspawn, wild beasts and men.

The voice grew louder as she walked along the meandering path in the Fade. She was confident that she would find the demon and teach it a thing or two about disturbing her while she slept. When she was finally at the source - the place where the voices were loudest, there were no signs of a demon. She continued to wait and watch but the voice had stopped. Instead, the place was now engulfed in an eerie silence. Solona looked around and prepared herself for the demon and for the ensuing battle but nothing happened. She sighed; irritated that she had walked all the way to the source only to find the demon in hiding once more. Just as she turned around to leave, a number of arms reached out of nowhere and grabbed her. She was startled and she struggled, trying to break free. She tried to use her magic, to cast a few spells in order to make her escape, but to no avail. Her arms were bound either side of her. Spell casting was impossible.

"You are here now. You belong to us!"

Solona saw demons - not just _a_ demon, but _demons_ - emerge from the shadows, all kinds of them, holding her and grinning evilly at her.

"We knew you would come and now we shall have you." They said as they stepped towards her.

"No!" cried Solona, trying harder to free herself from their clutches.

"No!" She wriggled but the demons were inches away from her.

"NO!" She screamed one last time before the demons would rip her apart, tearing her to shreds.

With a jerk Solona awoke. She was alive and in one piece. It took her a few moments to realize that she was on her bedroll, in her tent. A sigh of relief escaped her lips and she raised a hand to her face only to find it and the rest of her body drenched in sweat. The dream was unnerving and for the first time after her harrowing, she was afraid of the Fade. Never before, not even in her previous dreams had the demons attacked her or attempted to kill her. Too many questions swirled in her head but it was pointless to try and answer the questions in the dead of night, she thought. A drink of water would calm her down and she would go back to sleep.

Solona looked around to find a small flask filled with water and as she tried to get to the water, she realized that she wasn't alone. A heavy thing was wrapped around her just below her chest, an arm. She turned around to see Alistair snuggled right next to her. It was certainly not unusual for him to be with her at nights. Still, for the past weeks it was almost as if he had permanently moved into her tent. His own tent was just for show. Even his belongings had moved in along with her things. Carefully Solona tried to lift his arm and get the water, but his grip tightened followed by a low groan. A few moments later she tried again and this time he did not feel her leave. The water was cool and she felt better with just a few sips. Thoughts of the nightmare were set aside and she approached her bed again.

A few minutes passed and she was still awake. No matter how hard she tried to sleep, she was terrified of going to back into the Fade.

"Useless," she said to herself and decided to go sit by the campfire. Dressed in a simple linen dress, she stepped out. The fire flickered with a hypnotic rhythm and no one was around. It was cool, quiet and she was all alone. It was perfect for some contemplation, she thought, until she was interrupted.

"What's the matter, my dear warden? Is Alistair making you unhappy?" The elven assassin said in his usual Antivan accent.

"Hello Zevran," Solona said, still seated by the fire. She had not seen him and neither had she sensed his presence. The Antivan Crow was known for his stealth and with good reason. He was exceptional at the art of concealment. So much so, that sometimes Solona wondered how she managed to survive the ambush he'd laid for them.

Zevran had decided to emerge from the shadows and he came before Solona. With a smile he was greeted and he took a seat right next to her.

"So? Tell me, my dear, did the Chantry boy upset you? Or have you come to the realization that you need someone with a fiery flavor to satisfy you?"

At first Solona would feel extremely uncomfortable around Zevran. He would always be staring at her with an expression enough to set her ablaze with embarrassment. His comments, 'suggestions' and ideas were much too explicit to her liking. However, over time she had grown accustomed to his ways and his phrases would make her laugh. This instance was no exception. With a slight laugh she looked at him and said, "No Zevran. The 'Chantry boy' and I are very happy together. It's just…"

The elf continued to watch as Solona's expression changed from a pleasant smile to a serious one. Her eyes grew distant and thoughtful. He could gather that it was no small matter.

"What is it then? Crows are trained to keep secrets, you know." He urged Solona to tell him what was bothering her so much.

"I just had a nightmare that's all." She spoke, all the while her eyes searching for something in the fire.

"Surely it was more than just a nightmare. You, my dear, are not one to be disturbed because of one dream."

Solona found herself at a loss of words. How could she explain what she'd gone through? What would she say - that demons chased her in the Fade and that they had threatened to kill her? Wasn't that supposed to be a common affair for mages? There was no way that she could tell anyone of the nightmare without making a complete fool of herself.

"I assure you it was just a nightmare and I couldn't sleep afterwards, that's all. There was nothing left to do and so I thought I'd sit by the fire or may be do some stargazing." Solona managed to evade any further questions by smiling and looking up at the sky. Zevran, though unconvinced, decided not to prod and they both stared up at the vast open ocean of stars.

* * *

><p>The sun had just risen and the weather was mildly warm and humid. Alistair was trying his best to sleep for a little while longer, but a mosquito continued to pester him. He put his arm to his side, hoping to find his lady love, but only to have it fall to the ground with a low thud. He opened his eyes and Solona was nowhere to be found. Slightly irked at the mosquito and Solona's absence, he decided to get up. One sword in either hand and dressed only in his breeches, he stepped out for his regular practice.<p>

He felt refreshed as he took in the morning air. The faint hint of dew on the grass and gentle sun rays welcomed him outside. A few glances at the others' tents showed that he was the first one awake, as usual. Just as he was about to leave for his practice something white caught his eye. When he searched for it, he could see some form of cloth fluttering by the campfire. He walked closer and saw that it was Solona, with a white linen dress, sound asleep.

"There you are," he said and a smile formed on his lips. He dropped his swords and decided to go to Solona. As he moved closer it became obvious that Solona was breathing heavily, was covered in sweat and was shivering.

Alistair thought that she was perhaps having another dream of the archdemon and tried to wake her.

"Solona, love, wake up," he said and touched her arm. She did not respond.

"My dear, get up. We have to leave in a little while." But Solona was still writhing.

"Oh Maker," Alistair muttered to himself and decided to take her back to the tent. The ground was too hard and uncomfortable, he reckoned. Just as he slid his hands in place to lift her off, she started mumbling.

"No!" she squirmed, "No!"

Alistair tried to wake one last time since her convulsions seemed to have worsened.

"NO! Keep away! Keep your hands off me!" Solona shrieked, her eyes suddenly wide open and terror stricken.

"Solona, dear, it's me!" Alistair said as he held her tightly by the shoulders, "Solona!" It was the first time that he had seen her dark brown eyes filled with fear. This was unlike any other time that he had seen her dream of the archdemon.

Solona was disoriented but her surroundings came into focus very soon. She realized that Alistair was holding her and it was morning. She also realized that she had seen that same nightmare the second time in one night. She was certainly worried but she had finally regained her senses.

"Maker's breath woman, you know I was trained as a templar but I thought that wouldn't come between us! You wound me greatly." Alistair jested in an attempt to calm her down. He knew that Solona enjoyed his jokes. She would either respond with an appreciative laugh or would throw a smart comeback right at him. He awaited a reply, trying to confirm that she was well.

"Once a templar, always a templar. I can never trust you," she murmured in a voice barely louder than a whisper and put her arms around him.

Solona felt Alistair's embrace, firm and protective, like a shield that would safeguard her from any demons on the face of Thedas. She buried her head deep in his chest but no matter how hard she tried, the dreams and the fade were gnawing away at her mind.

Forcefully she pushed aside those thoughts. "We should hurry, Redcliffe awaits," she said and left. She had a lot of things to accomplish before they could set off. Any more dilly-dallying and thoughts of her nightmares would make her frightfully stiff.

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><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>Hi everyone and thanks for reading. I hope to make this fanfiction into something nice and long. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I do while writing it.

**Warning: **This story has spoilers about the game DA Origins and Awakening.


	3. Chapter 2 : Thoughts

Redcliffe – there was something about the place that made Solona extremely uncomfortable. Whether it was because she had entered the Fade to save Connor or that she had met Jowan possibly for the last time in her life, she was not sure. Both instances had been burdensome for her. First, the dreams she had been having recently had rattled her enough to make her stiffen at the very mention of the Fade. Yet she had to go, to save Connor and thus help the Arl of Redcliffe – perhaps the only man apart from Duncan, whom Alistair clearly held dear. But entering the Fade was still a small matter when compared to Jowan. She reminisced -

_Jowan had been her first friend and perhaps her only friend in the Circle all through her childhood. He had helped her cope with the circle while she was still new; he stood up for her against all the older bullies in the tower; he was the one who showed her that life could be beautiful even if they were locked up in an isolated place, probably never to leave its confines. He had been like a brother, no, he had been much more, he had been family. _

_As children, she would follow him around everywhere, she did everything he did. She played with the boys, never once sitting with the girls, gossiping. She grew up to be different from the other girls. In her early years, she would try to duel boys whenever she got the chance. She would try to show off her skill, unlike the other girls of her age, who tried to flaunt their beauty. She did not huddle around in the corners, look at boys and giggle in hopes to attract their attention. She liked to keep her hair short, why? Because long hair was too troublesome and difficult to manage during duels. She did not like to paint her face, why? Because that's not what mages were supposed to do! The Maker had already created nobles to sit around and look pretty. In her opinion, mages were not cursed by the Maker. Mages had been given the special ability to manipulate nature itself. But the choice lay with every mage - whether to use his powers for the good of the world or to use it for selfish purposes. She had decided that she would become a healer, healing all those in pain and helping as many people as she could. _

_As she grew older however, things had begun to change. The boys grew distant and preferred not to associate with her, opting to be with other boys and eyeing all the other girls. She was going through so many problems that she could not talk about, not even with Jowan. Things around the circle too were beginning to change. The girls and boys, who were at odds as children, had begun 'pairing off' as she would put it. Even Jowan would run off and be with the girls whom he had never liked as a little boy. It was not long however, before she understood the importance of specific behavior patterns among the boys and the girls. That was how it was meant to be. Gradually she began to adopt some aspects of women's etiquette. She associated more with the female apprentices around the tower, she learned how __**not**__ to be a __**boy.**__ It was a valuable lesson. _

_Towards the end of her stay at the circle, she had come to be known as the most promising among all the apprentices. Every senior enchanter knew her. She was a good herbalist and she had been Wynne's favorite student. It was even rumored that Wynne had specifically requested the first enchanter to be her mentor. _

_All the while, Jowan had probably been the only thing that had remained constant in her life. She had learned some very important lessons because of him. She had learned the importance of friendship, the importance of compassion and the importance of trust. She had immeasurable respect and affection for him. He meant so much to her that she had agreed to help him escape the Circle Tower. At that point in her life, she felt indebted to him. She wanted to do something for him - for all that he had given her, for all the times that he had been there for her. Jowan was like the sun shining through the many gloomy clouds that hovered around. But when the templars had caught them red handed, she found out a truth so terrible that the very ground shook beneath her feet. Never in her dreams could she have pictured Jowan as a blood mage. Jowan, her best friend, her brother had lied to her, for who knows how long! He had lied to her – the one who had instilled the values of trust and faith in her, had deceived her. And to add to the irony, she – the betrayed, was to be punished for her crime in helping a blood mage escape. _

_Seeing him back in Redcliffe, involved with the poisoning of Arl Eamon and associating with the wrong people had flooded Solona with anger. She wanted to demand justice, for her, for Lily; she wanted to believe that she was apathetic. But she could not. The man in the dungeon cell before her was a victim of circumstance, an unlucky fool, unhappy and filled with despair. His misdeeds were in the past and they could not change the fact that he was the only one she could call her own in the circle. She could not see him suffer, not any more. All he had ever wanted was to be free and to be able to love and live with the woman of his choice. That was no crime. Yet he was the accused, he was blamed. Seeing what the world had done to him, what the Maker had decreed for him disgusted her. She knew then, that the Maker was not an icon of benevolence, but was like a cruel child that had been given the power to toy with others' lives. _

_Solona had made up her mind; she would help the man whom she had once considered family. She would free him. Despite all his requests, she demanded that he leave and never return. As she watched him flee, only one thought crossed her mind, 'be safe' she whispered. _

_Alistair completely disagreed with her decision to let Jowan escape - "What? You're going to let him run off just like that? He's a blood mage!" _

_But she was not going to deny Jowan his life, not because of what the Chantry or Alistair or anyone else said. "You can hunt him yourself if you want," she spat. Alistair had never seen this side of her. _

_Solona had never discussed Jowan with anyone and she did not plan to do so either. She had always been selective about sharing her feelings. The second person she had ever felt close to was Alistair, the first being Jowan. She had resolved to never mention Jowan again. _

Once the lingering memories of the circle had left her, Solona was back to thinking of Redcliffe. One thing was certain though – she hated it there. But she would probably not need to visit Redcliffe after today, she thought. The Urn of Sacred Ashes had been found and a pinch of the ashes had been successfully retrieved. The only task they had left in Redcliffe was to revive Arl Eamon.

The journey from Haven till Redcliffe took half a day. Setting out early in the morning from Haven meant reaching Redcliffe latest by sunset. From the position of the sun, Solona gathered that it was around noon. Her stomach was growling and it was almost time to eat. The whole party had been fairly jovial ever since they had left Haven. There was plenty of chattering and Solona was having a wonderful time listening to her friends. Morrigan was teasing Alistair a little more than usual, all in good humor, however, until a particular conversation piqued Solona's interest.

"I do wonder. Is it permissible for two Grey Wardens to... oh, what is the word I search for?" Morrigan began in a most casual manner.

"…caboodle?" Alistair added.

"…fraternize," She corrected him.

"What's wrong with fraternizing?"

"It seems most undisciplined, for an organization that claims it will do whatever is necessary to end the darkspawn threat," –a most logical conclusion Morrigan had drawn.

"One thing has nothing to do with the other," – And a most spontaneous and ill thought out answer Alistair had given.

"Oh no? And what if a Grey Warden is forced to choose between the Warden he loved and ending the Blight? What should his choice be?" And there it was – the point that Wynne had raised; the question that Solona did not want to ask herself and one that she did not ever want to have to answer. But she could hide no more. The question had been asked, it was out in the open. Whom it was directed at was irrelevant. Now there was no escaping it; she needed to know Alistair's thoughts on the matter. Maker knew that she was afraid of what was to come.

"That is a... a ridiculous question," he replied.

"And I have my answer. Most kind of you." Solona knew what Morrigan had understood from his reply. It was certain that Alistair too was scared to make that choice.

The conversation reminded her of what had transpired when she had first set foot in Redcliffe village.

_The moment they had arrived at the bridge to Redcliffe village, Alistair pulled Solona aside. He seemed to be ill at ease. Finally, gathering some courage, he spoke, "Look, can we talk for a moment? I need to tell you something I…should probably have told you earlier."_

_The moment of truth had finally arrived - Alistair revealed that he was the illegitimate son of King Maric, half-brother to King Cailan and hence the last living member of the Theirin bloodline. Solona wondered what implications it would have for the two of them._

_"Doesn't that make you heir to the throne?"- There was an ominous ring to this question, she reckoned._

_"No! Maker's breath, I sure hope not!" Alistair rushed in._

Deep down Solona was uneasy but she tried not to show it. While it was certain that Alistair was not eager to become King, there was a distinct possibility that he could be persuaded to take his place on the throne.

Alistair's reply to Morrigan only reinforced the inference that he could be goaded by the right person under the right circumstances to become the ruler of Ferelden. Alistair was idealistic, kind-hearted, selfless and easily swayed.

"Don't any o' you blighters wanna eat?" came Oghren's voice. If nothing else, it was a well timed distraction for Solona.

* * *

><p>Arl Eamon had been cured and Redcliffe, secured. The last of the Grey Wardens' allies had been gathered. It was finally time for the Landsmeet. Back in camp, in the dead of night, Solona's thoughts returned to their discussion with the Arl -<p>

"_You intend to put Alistair forward as king?" Solona asked, pretending to never have considered this as an alternative._

_Arl Eamon spoke, calm as ever, "Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair's claim is by blood…"until Alistair interrupted him._

"_And what about me? Does anyone care what I want?" _

"_You have a responsibility, Alistair. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?" – Arl Eamon replied, all the while retaining his composure._

_Alistair grimaced, "I…but I…no, my lord," he said._

Solona was lying in her bedroll, wondering. Alistair's response to the Arl was predictable, yet she felt unsure and uneasy when she had heard him. She would rather be scorched to a crisp by the Archdemon than see a murderous maniac like Loghain run the country. Alistair would be a blessing on Ferelden, certainly; but there was a lingering doubt in her mind, poking and prodding.

Solona's thoughts were given pause when she heard the flap of her tent open. She did not need to turn around for she was certain it would be him, her one and only love.

Armored feet made their way inside her tent. From the sounds that followed, she guessed that he was removing his armor and equipment. Moments later, she could feel his arms around her, his face right above her own and his teeth gently nipping away at her ear. Gradually he moved from her ear to her jaw line and then to her neck.

Seeing as Solona was not reciprocating, Alistair asked, "You seem distracted. Is something bothering you, my dear?"

Solona sat up and cleared her throat, "I was wondering," she said, still unsure if she should talk to him about them. Her heart was pounding, she was nervous, but she had to know.

After a few seconds of deliberation, she met his gaze and asked, "Where do you see this going between us?"

Alistair was uncertain and a little disappointed – "I don't know."

He sat up straight and looked away but his expressions betrayed his true emotional state – "Arl Eamon wants to make me king at the Landsmeet. I never ever wanted that, not in my wildest dreams…but I will not refuse it if it's in the best interest of the nation, either."

Solona's heart sank.

"I love you. You know that, right? But I have no idea what being king will mean for us. I'll have to think about that," he said.

Despite her attempts to be calm and listen to him, she could not bind the torrent of emotion swelling within her. Without much thought she said, "I won't let you go, Alistair. No matter what."

She saw the look on his face change slightly. He gave a weak smile and hugged her –"Nor I, you."

She held him tight and he could feel her warm tears on his bare skin. He felt guilty to have made her cry. Gently stroking her hair, he placed a kiss on her forehead and said, "Let's just deal with the Blight first. We'll have plenty of time to discuss such things later. Trust me."

The sincerity in Alistair's words was enough to assuage Solona's anxiety. Slowly she raised her face and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Her fear was contained and she felt that much more hopeful about being with the man she so dearly loved.

* * *

><p><strong>Author Notes:<strong> The details of events in the game DA Origins are likely to continue for a couple chapters before the content becomes completely new. I tried to minimize the overlap and this is the best I can do. Reading the overlap might be a tad bit boring but I have included some elements which are crucial for my story in the subsequent chapters. What I'm trying to say is this, please have a little patience and soon enough I will publish the juicy stuff. Do review and thank you again for reading.


	4. Chapter 3 : Denerim

**Author Notes: **Hi again! This chapter took some time for me to create, edit, etc. I have tried my best to keep things short, but this is as much as I could accomplish. This is everything before the Landsmeet.

* * *

><p>Denerim was the capital of Ferelden, seat of the king and at present, the lion's den. Solona and her group had reached Denerim after travelling for three days and four nights. The journey had been exceptionally difficult for Solona. She could not sleep at nights for more than just a couple of hours owing to the fearsome dreams she had been having and they travelled without any rest during day. Her health had also taken a turn for the worse. The fighting had intensified, now that the Blight was at their doorstep and she had to rely too much on potions. As a herbalist, she knew that too many potions could have some serious consequences. But she had to continue using them; she had to press forward if she hoped to win against the darkspawn. Wynne had offered to help her on multiple occasions, but Solona had always turned her down. She thought that accepting Wynne's help would make her look weak, unreliable and possibly unfit to lead them against the Blight. Solona only grew more paranoid with the worried glances that her companions gave her. Leliana was the one who made her feel most self-conscious.<p>

"Are you all right, ma Cherie?" – Leliana would ask her and Solona would put an act in response.

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm just a little tired." - Solona would reply while smiling awkwardly.

The presence of the Arl, Bann Teagan and some of their men in camp felt like a little more than an intrusion in what would otherwise have been a gathering of Solona's closest friends. But she was not the only one who was behaving differently in the presence of the nobles. For a change, Alistair actually slept in his tent and it seemed almost as if he was trying to avoid Solona. Perhaps Alistair was upset because of their conversation, or perhaps he did not want the Arl to see the once-chaste templar indulging in some not-so-chaste activities with a sorceress - there were too many possible reasons for his odd behavior, she thought.

Their arrival in Denerim was followed by a rather sudden meeting with Loghain. The Teyrn had come to Arl Eamon's estate to 'welcome' them personally. The Teyrn, thought Solona, had been very direct and perhaps careless in revealing his allies – actually, his subordinates – Ser Cauthrien, the general of Loghain's armies, and Rendon Howe who was the Arl of Amaranthine, the Arl of Denerim and the Teyrn of Highever. Solona examined the trio carefully. Teyrn Loghain seemed just as he had in Ostagar - cold, uncaring and autocratic. His general, Ser Cauthrien, was a woman blinded by loyalty so intense that she could not see the death of hundreds of soldiers, not to mention, the king himself. Rendon Howe, on the other hand, was a wily man - lean, tall and ruthless – not exactly the kind of man that one would want to confer so many titles upon. What was surprising however, was the absence of Queen Anora. Was it not she who was the ruler of Ferelden in the absence of Cailan? Was it not her, on behalf of whom Loghain claimed to have taken up regency? Then why was she so conspicuously missing?

As the meeting came to an end, one thing became apparent – Loghain was prepared to oust them from Denerim and he would not hesitate to use underhanded means to attain his goals. While the Landsmeet had granted Arl Eamon some kind of protection, the Grey Wardens had just come under direct fire from the enemy.

Arl Eamon had asked Solona to meet him once she and her friends had made themselves comfortable in the estate. She had a nice little room for herself, right next to that of Sten and Morrigan. Her mabari, Fang, was to stay in her room. Solona was tired – she hadn't slept well in four days, had met Teyrn Loghain and had shopped for reagents, weapons and armor all day long. After all the excitement she just wanted to go to her room and rest for a while. When she had reached her room she decided that she should try to sleep – dreams or not, she had to give her body the rest that it deserved. Otherwise she wouldn't live long enough to see the Archdemon, let alone fight it. The bed was warm and welcoming. She took off her robes, slipped into something more comfortable and blew out the candles before sliding under the covers.

However, Solona's joy was not to last long. Someone had come knocking on her door. She did not want to get up but the knocking was incessant. Begrudgingly she rose from her bed to answer the door and found an elven servant girl standing there - "I'm sorry to disturb you milady, but Arl Eamon asked to see you when you returned."

The servant was gone as soon as she had finished delivering the message. Solona was still groggy, but she realized that she had to go meet Eamon. Rest would have to wait. 'Oh, nugs!' she thought and got underway. Arl Eamon was waiting in his study with an elven woman. Alistair too was present. He was by a bookcase, searching for a book perhaps – highly unlikely, yet, possible all the same. As soon as Solona entered the study, the Arl told her about all the latest developments. Queen Anora had sent her most trusted handmaid, apparently to ask for their help. A most interesting turn of events, Solona thought.

Anora would have them believe that Arl Howe, along with Teyrn Loghain, had imprisoned her. She would have them believe that Teyrn Loghain was capable of killing his own daughter if it ensured the safety of the country. All of her claims might as well be a ploy to lure the Wardens to their doom, Solona thought. However, as Eamon explained, if it was indeed a trap for them, then they were already caught in the web. The Teyrn and Howe could have Anora murdered and could blame him and the Wardens as the perpetrators. Anora had to be kept out of the Teyrn's reach at all costs.

Solona, along with Zevran, Leliana and Alistair, had set out for Arl Howe's estate early the following morning. Raiding the estate was far easier than she had thought. However, the act of rescuing Anora had proven to be a tad bit more complicated, simply because Ser Cauthrien, Loghain's devoted little commander, had turned up with a dozen guards to catch the Wardens red handed in act of murdering the Arl of Denerim and attempting to kidnap the Queen. It was too convenient, Solona thought, for Ser Cauthrien to arrive at Howe's estate with a small force just in time to capture the criminals. While it was certain that Ser Cauthrien wouldn't believe anything that Solona would have to say, there was likelihood that Anora's testimony could change her mind and stop her from attacking the Wardens.

Solona and her party waited for Anora to reason with Ser Cauthrien by telling her the truth of the matter. All eyes had now fallen upon Anora and she chose to follow in on her father's footsteps - she betrayed the Wardens. Solona was enraged, but she had almost anticipated Anora's treachery. However, there was no holding Ser Cauthrien back, not anymore, and the battle had begun. Strangling Anora with a piece of her own silken dress would have to wait, Solona thought. With a few well planned attacks, potions and rapid switching between healing and attacking, Solona and her companions managed to slay Ser Cauthrien. The rest of Loghain's guards were no match for her party and got slaughtered like cattle. In the mean time, Anora and her maid Erlina had vanished.

The visit to Howe's estate had not been all bad. Both of Loghain's lackeys were dead, Anora's unreliable nature was revealed and the Wardens had managed to gather support for the Landsmeet. There could not have been a better outcome. Arl Eamon had to be informed about all the things that had happened. When Solona went looking for Eamon in his study, she was more than shocked to find Anora standing there. Eamon seemed to be unaware of the little trick that Anora had pulled back at Howe's estate. Just for the moment, though, Solona decided to understand Anora's motivations. She did not mention anything to Eamon.

Anora began with an apology which was anything but earnest. With poise so characteristic of nobility, she had revealed to Solona that there were inhuman things afoot in the elven alienage of Denerim. She had also revealed her reasons for siding with the Wardens, for the moment. Anora had therefore portrayed herself as a political mastermind, for whom everything and everyone was just a means to an end. Like father, like daughter, thought Solona. In a private meeting, Anora had also revealed that she sought Solona's support to claim the throne. She continued to explain to Solona, as if she was a common fool, why Alistair would be a terrible king and why she would be a godsend. With little or no proof to back her claims, not only did Anora seem to be manipulative, but she also seemed to be power hungry. While it was evident that Anora could prove to be an efficient ruler, there was no telling if she would be a good ruler. Besides, given her family history of self-righteousness, Solona inferred that it would be in the best interest of Ferelden to keep her as far away from the throne as possible.

Solona decided to remain diplomatic and refused to openly accept or reject Anora's proposal for an alliance. It was certain though, that Anora would cause harm if the status of the alliance remained ambiguous at the time of commencement of the Landsmeet. However, Solona was confident in her abilities. She had already gathered the support of some of the Banns and Loghain was losing his foothold over the country. If a majority of the Banns of Ferelden would have the Wardens lead them in the war, then Anora's allegiance would be of little consequence.

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><p>The following day, Solona had set out to investigate the situation in the alienage. While she knew of alienages, this was the first time that she had ever entered one. The stench of disease and leaking sewers hung thick in the air. Elves - old and young, men and women, sick and healthy, had all taken to the streets. The reasons for the elves to protest in such fashion, whatever they may be, were certainly compelling and they would likely point to Loghain.<p>

With a little probing around, Solona and the others had discovered that the state of discord in the elven alienage was brought about due to a slaving racket, cleverly disguised as magical treatment for those affected by a recent plague. The slavers were Tevinter blood mages, shipping healthy elves over from the alienage to the Tevinter Imperium with approval and unofficial legal protection from Loghain Mac Tir. Essentially, Loghain financed his war against the Bannorn, against the Grey Wardens and against the Blight by selling his countrymen. Any proof of Loghain's ignominious dealings with Tevinters would be invaluable in gaining the trust of the Banns of Ferelden during the Landsmeet.

Soon enough, the Wardens had located the slavers' base of operations in the alienage and the monotony of fighting had taken over. Solona could defeat most of the blood mages with a single spell. She had perfected her ability to drain mana and inflict heavy damage on magic users in her vicinity. Magic would cause the end of magic whenever a mage would be pitted against Solona Amell. The Tevinter mages were dispatched just as soon as they made their appearance. The only one who proved to be a challenge was Caladrius, the leader of the slavers in Denerim. Solona wouldn't admit it, but she did find it difficult to defeat him. He was fast with his spell-casting, much faster than any other mage that Solona had encountered. It was little wonder that he was the leader of the Tevinter slavers in Denerim. He too was slain, however. Caladrius held the document that approved his activities in the alienage. It was irrefutable evidence implicating Loghain as the one who allowed the Tevinters to carry out their work in Denerim. The Grey Wardens now had all the ammunition that they needed against Loghain. The Landsmeet was all that stood between Loghain and justice.

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><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>Thanks for reading. I hope it wasn't too boring. The next chapter is going to cover the landsmeet and hopefully the final battle with the archdemon after which the content will become all original coming from yours truly... Please review if you find the time...

See you soon with the next chapter...


	5. Chapter 4 : Fate

**Author Notes: **Hello all, and sorry for the long, long wait. I had a very hard time with this chapter. I came up with four alternative ways of covering the Landsmeet, but none of them seemed right. For some reason, all of them were…awfully similar to the stuff I had read before. I just wanted to be a little more original this time.

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><p>Alistair was in Arl Eamon's study, back in the estate, waiting. The Arl mentioned that he had something important to discuss, probably something about the Landsmeet on the morrow, Alistair reckoned. As was his favorite activity when he was in the study, he kept looking at the all the books the Arl had gathered over the years. Some of the titles seemed to make for an interesting read while the others were downright outlandish. Never once had he dared to read any of those books, however.<p>

The Arl had just walked in with goblets of wine, one for himself and another for Alistair. "So," he said, "Are you ready to be king?"

Alistair turned around to face the Arl. It was not the kind of thing he wanted to talk about. He viewed his impending enthronement as a problem, but not talking about the problem would not make it go away. He understood that he could not ignore the future anymore and with a sigh he replied, "You're asking me if I'm willing to give up my freedom for a bunch of self-centered nobles…and no, I am not ready." With downcast eyes, he slowly reached for the old Chantry amulet that hung around his neck – a symbol of Andraste, a souvenir of his mother and the most precious gift Solona had given to him.

"But, like most things in my life, I have little choice in the matter, don't I?" he lamented, as he rubbed his fingers against the holy trinket. He couldn't help but think of all that fate had thrust upon his shoulder right from the moment of his birth – the death of his mother, a missing father, the lack of a proper family and the identity of a bastard.

The Arl wanted to talk to Alistair about his activities and duties as king. He certainly was not expecting to see Alistair still vacillating and uncertain. Slightly perplexed, he watched the lad closely. What he saw before him, was a young man, a warrior who had the makings of a fine king, but the lad lacked direction and willingness - the elements that distinguished great men from great leaders. Arl Eamon knew that Alistair had seen a lot of unpleasantness at a very young age; that people dismissed him purely because he was Maric's bastard. By becoming king, however, he could show to the whole of Thedas what a capable man he was. No, Arl Eamon would not let Alistair miss such a wonderful opportunity to claim what was rightfully his.

With measured words, the Arl attempted to appeal to Alistair's well developed sense of justice and duty. "Oh, but you do have a choice, my boy. You can choose to be king and make your country flourish, or," he paused, trying to assess the impact of his words so far. "Or, you can choose to hand the country over to Loghain and watch him lead it down the path of ruin," he said, icily.

"That's like asking me to choose between cheese and horse dung," Alistair remarked with a playful smirk and took a seat at a nearby table. The Arl could infer from Alistair's response, that despite his distaste, the lad had come to accept his future as the ruler of a nation. He approached Alistair with a warm smile on his face and handed a goblet of wine to him.

With hope renewed, the Arl thought it appropriate to make plain the original intent of the meeting.

"I'm glad you think so," he said, "And, now that your nervousness has been dealt with, I have another important matter to discuss with you."

The Arl had his eyes fixed on Alistair and began carefully, "It's about the Warden."

* * *

><p>The Landsmeet had only just begun and accusations were being hurled around haphazardly. Arl Eamon and Loghain were the two contenders, each trying his best to besmirch the other with cherry picked words. The Wardens and their other companions had entered the main hall when all eyes suddenly fell upon them.<p>

"Ah! And here we have the puppeteer," Loghain sneered, all the while looking in Solona's direction.

"Tell us Warden: How will the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince?" - Loghain's speech was impassioned, filled with disdain and resentment. His words were meant to hit the people where it hurt the most. He certainly was a leader of men and a very capable speaker - "What did they offer you? How much is the price of Ferelden honor now?"

Solona was outraged at the allegations, but she refrained from reacting to provocation. "The Blight is the threat here, not Orlais," she replied, hoping that the nobles would focus on what truly mattered. Whether by sheer stroke of luck or otherwise, some of the Banns supported her claims. However, the arguments had only just begun. Loghain would not relent so easily. He tried his best to dig up the long interred corpses of the Orlesian invasion and Ostagar many times over. Solona had to resort to exposing Loghain's crimes at the elven alienage and the attempted assassination of Arl Eamon to divert the attention of the gathering to the matter at hand – choosing a candidate suitable to lead the nation into battle against the Blight.

Many rounds of accusations and retaliations followed, until Loghain raised the issue of Anora – his precious daughter, Cailan's widow and therefore, queen of Ferelden.

"Whatever I have done, I will answer for later. At the moment, however, I wish to know what this Warden has done with my daughter, our queen," he said. Having exhausted all his other options, Loghain was gripping at straws.

Solona had anticipated the entire discussion to eventually land on the topic of 'Queen Anora'. While it was supposedly Loghain and Rendon Howe who wanted Anora out of the way, Solona understood that no one at the Landsmeet would believe this tale, unless Anora supported the Wardens' claims. Also, given that Anora wanted, more than anything else, the throne and the fact that Solona had refused to comment on Anora's proposal for an alliance, it was more than likely that Anora would side with her father. While Solona had considered all the possibilities, there was little she could do to steer the discussion another way. She only hoped that the Banns would support the Wardens when the time came, but right then, she would have to play along.

"What're you talking about?" she asked her words coated with indifference. Barely seconds had passed after Solona had spoken, that a new member had made a grand entrance.

"I believe I can speak for myself," spoke a woman from one of the doorways to the main hall. It was Her Majesty, Queen Anora.

This was as bad as things were going to get, Solona mused. It was only a matter of time now. The Landsmeet would soon come to an end and Solona would make Loghain capitulate, one way or another.

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><p>Alistair was in a foul mood ever since Anora had shown up at the Landsmeet. 'The lying bitch!' he thought. He and Solona had safeguarded her from her maniacal father and his equally deranged lackeys. She should be grateful, but no, she had gone on to lie to the entire nation about the Wardens. She had lied straight to their faces without so much as flinching. If he could have his way and if Solona hadn't held him back, he would have gutted Anora right there. All he could do at the moment, however, was to seethe with rage.<p>

Silently he watched, as the events unfolded before him. Seeing as almost all the Banns had decided to support the Wardens, despite Anora's support for her father, Alistair felt better. Things were looking up. Loghain was cornered. Everyone except his daughter and one other noble was against him. However, Loghain was not going to surrender to the will of the Landsmeet, not without a fight. Almost everyone was preparing for a battle, when Solona interrupted and offered a compromise. She offered to settle the issue once and for all, with a duel.

"Call off your men and we'll settle this honorably," she said. The whole gathering, including Loghain, agreed to the relatively peaceful alternative. "Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?" Loghain asked. Alistair was certain that Solona would choose him. There was simply no way that she would choose another to face Duncan's murderer, he was sure of it. He thanked the Maker inwardly, for now he had the opportunity to direct all his pent up anger and suffering towards the true source of all his problems – Loghain. If only Loghain had remained in the field at Ostagar, Duncan would still have been alive, Cailan would still have been alive and Ferelden wouldn't need a new king. He wouldn't have had to run around the whole nation trying to persuade people to support the Grey Wardens while having to contend with bounty hunters, assassins and darkspawn. Alistair was about to get his just reward for having patiently put up with all those gratuitous troubles.

With a sense of great satisfaction, he prepared himself for the duel and he reached for his swords when Solona said, "I'll face this duel myself."

It took a few seconds before the words registered correctly in Alistair's ears. It was as if someone had poured cold water over him. "You what?" he gasped, as he pulled Solona by her arm.

"Do you realize that he's about twice your size and at least twice as strong as you? For Andraste's sake, his sword is about three fourths of your height. You're going to get yourself killed!" he snarled. Despite his attempt to keep his voice down, the entire gathering had heard him.

Solona freed herself from Alistair's vice like grip. For the first time, she could feel his strength. Solona's arm had begun to ache despite the protection of Master Wade's Dragonskin armor. She looked at Alistair, slightly puzzled. He was angry, unlike ever before, but she would stand by her decision. While she knew that Alistair wanted to avenge Duncan and the other Wardens of Ferelden, she too wanted to get even with Loghain, for all that he had put Jowan through. If it had not been for Loghain's intervention, Jowan would probably have escaped from the templars and maybe he'd have been safe; or maybe he would have been at the Circle and maybe Irving would have reduced his punishment. In either case, she would never have seen him again. She would never have had to see the broken man that Jowan had become – his body covered in scars from repeated torture in a dungeon, suffering in solitude. It was because of Loghain that she had to see her brother in such a pitiful state. No, if Alistair had reason to loathe Loghain, then so did she. "I don't care how big or how strong he is. This fight is mine," she stated.

Alistair was visibly upset, but before he could begin arguing again, she said, "You will be king soon and kings do not enter the fray, unless all else fails."

It was clear now, that there was no convincing Solona to reconsider her decision to face Loghain. Alistair had no choice but to back down. For some reason though, he felt overwhelmingly annoyed. He wanted to leave the main hall and be by himself, but he could not. It wasn't the first time that he and Solona had disagreed on something, and yet, somehow the fact that he could not have his way seemed so unfair. As he watched Solona and Loghain prepare for the duel, the conversation he had had with Arl Eamon on the previous night began to play back in his mind –

"_It's about the Warden," said the Arl while sipping on his wine. _

_Although Alistair had an uncomfortable feeling about the topic of discussion, he wanted to hear the Arl out. "What about her?" he inquired._

"_I've been watching the two of you, my boy, and it seems that you two are quite…fond of each other." The Arl could not have been more subtle. _

"…_and you brought this up because you have some relationship advice to offer?" Alistair asked, trying hard to cover his now reddened face._

"_No, I'm afraid not. I brought it up because I want you to talk to her about your relationship. You will become king tomorrow and she is a mage. Therefore, it goes without saying that the two of you cannot be together," Arl Eamon said curtly. _

_Alistair frowned. There he was sitting in the Arl's estate, sipping on some of the finest wine because of Solona, before the Arl whose life, family and village were safe because of Solona and he was being asked to leave her, simply because she was mage. No, he would never leave her, he could never leave her. He owed her everything. "Well then I can't become king, now can I…" he said, irate. _

"_Don't be so eager to throw away all your hard work, lad. I'm sure the Warden wouldn't be," The Arl said calmly, before raising his glass and taking a rather long sip of his drink._

_The remark incensed Alistair even further._

"_Keep her hard work, but kick her out eventually, for she is a lowly mage. Mages are not people, they are merely instruments, meant to be used and thrown when they have served their purpose, right Arl Eamon?" Alistair mocked. The comment had come out harsher than he had intended it to be. _

_It was clear therefore, that the longer they would discuss, the more likely it was for the argument to get heated up. Alistair had a lot of respect for Arl Eamon and he did not want to be insolent, but the Arl was asking for something unthinkable. It was too much to ask him to give away his lover, all for a country that didn't even care for his existence until a few days ago. It was wrong. _

_He wanted to leave quickly so as to avoid any further unpleasantness while still managing to convey his fervent opposition to the proposal. With one big gulp, he consumed all the wine in his glass and rose to his feet. _

"_I will not leave her, Arl Eamon. She needs me more than this country does," Alistair said and began to leave. However, he came to a sudden halt when he heard the Arl say, "Do you really think she needs you?"_

_The question was preposterous, thought Alistair. Of course she needed him. Why else would she be with him, he reasoned, but before he could put forth his opinion on the matter, the Arl spoke, "From what I have gathered, she is the leader of your group. She was the one who performed all those feats, right from the Sacred Ashes to Orzammar. In fact, I have even heard that you weren't with her when she had gone to the Circle Tower, and yet you claim that she needs you."_

_With one last gulp of wine, the Arl continued, "Solona is a woman without equal, Alistair – independent, self-sufficient, just and merciful. Truth be told, it is we who need her and not the other way around. But that is not the issue. The issue is that neither the Landsmeet nor the Chantry will accept her as your queen. If you marry her, Ferelden will once again be reduced to a collection of warring states. Is that what you want?" _

_A heavy silence hung in the air. Alistair had heard enough and he did not wish to talk about anything anymore. "I think I'm done talking," he said as he stormed out of the Arl's study._

Back in the main hall, he was witnessing exactly what the Arl had told him the previous night. Solona was strong, way too strong, in both body and mind. Despite her small stature, she had the courage to face any and all odds. She rose to meet challenges no matter how tough they were. The Arl was right: she needed no one; it was always they who needed her.

Alistair could think of so many instances when Solona had to rush to his aid. In fact, he and the others could hold their front in battle purely because she and Wynne kept healing them. Back in the camp, she and Wynne would treat their injuries. It was only occasionally that she needed protection from enemies. Even now, as Solona faced Loghain, she needed no one. Every time she took a blow, she healed herself and retaliated with twice the initial ferocity. In a matter of minutes, Solona had managed to defeat Loghain in single combat. She, a tiny mage, had defeated a seasoned warrior, the Hero of River Dane with no assistance from anyone.

The Arl's words kept ringing in his ears since the last night. Alistair had not thought about it before the previous night, but he could think of nothing else since then: there was little that Solona could not accomplish without him. She truly did not need him.

* * *

><p>"I underestimated you, Warden. I thought you were like Cailan, a child wanting to play at war," Loghain spoke, while trying to catch his breath, "I was wrong. There's a strength in you that I have not seen since Maric died." He was on his knees, shamed and defeated.<p>

"I yield," he said.

Solona too was tired. It had been a difficult battle, especially since she was not allowed any kind of help. But she had faith in her abilities - she was determined to win and win she did. Her sword, the Spellweaver, was sheathed and she healed herself one last time. Seeing Loghain beaten and disgraced did bring her heart some solace. However, Loghain was far from absolved. His hands were stained with the blood of hundreds of soldiers and Grey Wardens.

Maker knew that Solona valued mercy above justice. Had circumstances been otherwise, she would perhaps have accepted his surrender. On this occasion however, compassion would only do more harm than good. Loghain's retribution lay in death. "You'll die for what you've done," she said.

Riordan, the senior Grey Warden from Jader, had entered at the last minute to suggest an alternative. He wanted to induct Loghain into the Grey Wardens. He argued that Loghain was a skilled fighter and that one more Grey Warden only improved their chances of winning against the darkspawn. Alistair would not agree however. "Make him a Grey Warden and you cheapen us all," he declared to her.

Solona could not only see the reason behind Riordan's suggestion, but she could understand Alistair's impetuousness just as well. Rationality dictated that Loghain be spared and that the Joining be administered, but humans are nothing if not irrational. Solona found it impossible to be objective. She could not set aside her own feelings. She loved Alistair too much and consequently empathized to the point where she could not separate his thoughts from hers. It was Alistair who would settle for nothing less than the death of Loghain. It was he who wanted to quench his thirst for revenge. While Solona had blamed Loghain for what had happened to Jowan, she did not seek vengeance. Her anger was spent. And yet, there she stood trying to convince herself that killing Loghain was the right thing to do, trying to justify Alistair's emotions. After a few moments of indecision and against her better judgment, she chose to have Loghain executed.

"You should be the one to do this, Alistair," she said and stepped away. She did not want to watch.

Alistair took his sword and raised it to deliver the killing blow. "I owe that to Duncan," he said just before he struck Loghain down. He felt it gratifying to look upon the traitor, Duncan's murderer lying dead before him. Alistair had successfully completed his duty towards his mentor.

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><p>The Landsmeet was adjourned soon afterwards. Solona was again offered the choice to declare the new ruler and she chose Alistair, as was decided back in Redcliffe. Anora was sent to prison, to remain locked up until the end of the Blight, whereupon she would either take up the throne or be executed depending upon whether or not Alistair survives their final standoff against the Archdemon.<p>

Several hours had passed since then and it was almost night time. Solona was in the dining hall with all her companions save Alistair. She hadn't seen him since the end of the Landsmeet. He had excused himself the moment the meet had come to an end. She had tried to search for him, but he was nowhere to be found within the castle. No one had seen him, not even the servants. That was rather unusual. She thought that Alistair would be happy with the way the Landsmeet had ended; after all, they got what they wanted. Something was amiss, however.

Thoughts continued to linger in her mind when she heard loud footsteps coming her way. Alistair had just entered the dining hall. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, not to mention, his eyes conveyed a sense of intense sadness.

"We need to talk," he said slowly.

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><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>

I don't know why, but I feel compelled to explain what I have done with this chapter.

1) My perception of the character of Arl Eamon is that he is a rational man, not very considerate towards the emotions of others, but at the same time, he was not manipulative. He did not seem to be the power hungry sort. Nor did he come off as one who could bend the will of others to get his way. This is how I pictured it.

2) I wanted to make Alistair's character seem more realistic. The comment from a lot of women gamers about this character is that it is next to impossible to find a man who is so sweet, sensitive, obedient and hence, essentially devoid of the so-called 'male ego' – the thing that is believed to drive men to want to dominate their women, to exert control, also to probably be insensitive, etc,. In this chapter, I have attempted to show that he does have the 'male ego', except that it is not very strong.

I hope I've done a decent job of conveying what I have written above.

The next chapter will deal with the Blight and maybe a little beyond that. I don't know how long it will be before I can update the story. The quarters have only just started and studies are going to become more intense in a few days to come. But I will try my best to finish the game overlap as soon as possible. Do review if you like my work and if you have time. Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter 5 : End

**Author Notes:** Hi again! First of all, thanks to Thot84 and Roguelegacy for reviewing and all my other followers for their support. It's through you guys that I get to know whether or not my story is being received well. Thank you very much!

With this chapter, I have tried my level best to retain the in-game dialogues and build my story around it. I hope you guys can appreciate it.

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><p>"We need to talk," Alistair said as he entered the dining room. His entrée broke the monotony of what seemed like an endless wait. Every head in the room turned to him.<p>

Solona was not sure what to expect. She walked up to him, looking puzzled. There was something very odd going on. The way he had walked in, the way he stood and the way he spoke conveyed a sense of fatigue, like he had endured a long trial. She was curious though.

"I'm not going to question why you made me king. I think I'm even starting to come around on the idea, anyhow…it might be an interesting future for me," he said plainly. And his words were like music to her ears. _Oh Andraste_, how she had worried that he might be upset; how she had obsessed over what Alistair felt about the outcome of the Landsmeet. Was she ever glad to know, that he had reconciled with being king.

Alistair's eyes darted over to her briefly and he saw that she had a pleasant smile on her face, one that he would cause to disappear. Despite his resolve, it pained him to speak any further. However, there was no other way; he had to do it then. "But…being king, that raises some questions about us. About you and me," he said.

With a sudden unforeseen change of moods, Solona's respite had vanished and the conversation had turned serious. The subject matter was of a private nature and yet, Alistair seemed to take no note of their friends' presence. She grew uncomfortable, but thought that it was paranoia perhaps, that was making her worry. Apprehensive though she was, she placed her faith in Alistair and decided to engage him. "What sort of questions?" she enquired.

"First, there's the fact that both you and I are Grey Wardens. It's not just a question of obligation, but of blood," he said, but he stopped shortly after replying. His words were caught in his throat and he remained silent for a long time. The look of concern in Solona's eyes was too much to bear. The Maker had a strange sense of humor, he thought, to make him fall in love with someone who was the embodiment of perfection, one he wanted more than anything else in the world, but one he could never have. He felt unworthy of her, even though he longed for her and circumstances too had made their separation inevitable. By becoming king, he had given himself to the mercy of the people – a phobic and prejudiced people, who lived every waking minute of their lives according to the Chantry. Every mage was an abomination in their eyes and the Chantry sanctioned their belief. No matter how he looked at it, there was no future for them together. In fact, he had even come to believe that it was for the best. He did not deserve her anyway.

"You…know that Grey Wardens don't usually live to become old right?" he asked as he hoped for things to not go awry. After all, he had chosen a twisted route to convince Solona to end their relationship. While he had, with great difficulty, resolved to conclude things, he knew that Solona, being the defiant woman she was, would not give up on them so easily. Whether or not the Chantry approved of their relationship was hardly of any concern to her. It would take more than just political pressures to make Solona even consider the possibility of separation. He felt, that it would take a more compelling and a more personal reason to convince her.

As he awaited an answer to his question, he had begun to understand why there was no such thing as a gentle letdown. Desperately he prayed for Solona to not be vexatious for he was at his limit and he truly did not want to hurt her any more than was necessary.

Meanwhile, Solona was still trying to figure out where their conversation was headed. Alistair had never been so indirect with anything, except his parentage, and that did not bode well. "Yes, I am aware of that," she said moments later, preparing for what was to come.

"As king, I'll be required to have a child, even more so because my death is assured. That's assuming that someone with the taint can or even should…have a child," he said and Solona had just received her first clue. Talks of tainted blood and the child were a mask for something – something very unpleasant. With every breath she took, she found herself being drawn into a situation that she was only too familiar with – losing something she held dear. The path ahead was uncertain and she knew that she had to tread carefully.

"Don't Grey Wardens have children?" she asked, trying to conceal the upheaval within her.

"Not with each other," Alistair uttered softly, while fighting back the lump that had begun to form in his throat. Solona's question was full of hope and expectation, and he was about to crush them cruelly. "Even one parent having tainted blood means having children is not recommended. All the Grey Wardens I knew with children had them before they joined the order," he elaborated sounding despondent.

It was thus, that the intent of the conversation had finally become clear. Solona's worst fears had finally come true. As a mage, she had lost too much in life already. To give away the only man she had ever loved for a nation that abhorred her kind and subjugated them was inconceivable. If she had known that Alistair's coronation would jeopardize her relationship with him, she would have supported Anora no matter how tyrannical a ruler she would prove to be. And yet, Alistair stood before her telling her that they could not be together.

As the going had just gotten tougher, Alistair found it impossible to meet Solona's gaze. Quickly he averted his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "I'll need to find a wife, one who can bear a child and one who will live to raise it. I don't…relish it, but, I will have a duty as the king," he said, wanting nothing more than for Solona to understand his plight.

"I love you, more than I ever thought possible. But, I have to face what this means. I can't run away from it anymore," he keened, as Solona stood before him, dumbstruck. There was no room for doubt anymore. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Her thoughts ran helter-skelter and she had started panicking. If only she could do something to save her love, 'Something, anything', she thought.

Solona regained her composure many minutes later, but when she did calm her nerves, she had chanced upon the only remaining possibility – an option which she could never imagine herself considering, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She had decided to make absolutely certain that there was no way for them to be together and pride did not matter.

With a façade of calm, she said, "No one can force the king to do something he doesn't want to, Alistair." It was her only chance. She had tried her level best to sound as convincing as possible, to make it seem like she did not care for her reputation. At that moment, she could not help but believe that being with him would outweigh all else in the whole world. It had to work, for she honestly did not know what would happen in event of failure.

However, serious issues such as this were not resolved so easily. Just when Alistair thought he had dealt with one problem there emerged another. He could not believe his ears. Was Solona truly asking to be his mistress? As far as he was concerned, the idea was unfathomable. _How could someone as righteous and moral as Solona even propose such a thing?_

"You mean marry who I want? Carry on with whomever I want? You don't think that would be very unfair, to my wife as well as you?" he was genuinely inquisitive. Did she really want such a future for them – an adulterous future?

"But I love you," Solona said, now frantic. The very reason why she was willing to overlook everything was because she loved him. The one thing, perhaps the only thing that she wanted was for them to be together. Class, status, social image were all immaterial so long as her lover respected her. She was willing to do anything just to be with him and she thought that he would do anything to be with her.

"Isn't my love important to you?" she whimpered, on the verge of tears, for her mind was clouded with doubt for a second time. Had she been wrong about Alistair's feelings for her? Did she end up losing face in the eyes of the only one who truly mattered? Only Alistair could answer that.

"You know what, you're right," he said. Even though, he had been skeptical at first, the fact that Solona had suggested such a thing was proof enough that she too wanted him. Whether he was worthy of her or not mattered no longer. Regardless of what the world thought, they both wanted each other, and very badly at that. When looked at that way, the proposition seemed like the perfect solution to their predicament. The Chantry could not dictate terms when it came to having a mistress. Almost every nobleman and noblewoman had a lover in the dark. There was no reason why he should refrain from having one, especially when it was Solona who should rightfully have been his wife. It was only fair for him to be with his lover when he was giving up everything else for the sake of the country.

With new found vigor, he said, "Damn them all anyhow. If they want to make me king, then…then I'll be king and I'll do exactly what I want to do." All of a sudden his troubles seemed to have disappeared and he was overcome with new found joy.

"I feel like such an idiot for bringing this up now. Can you ever forgive me?" he said, with a smile from ear to ear.

"I don't know," Solona said, confused. Even though Alistair had agreed to her proposition, she felt unsure, like she was going to regret her decision. She honestly did not know whether her choice to become Alistair's inamorata was a wise one. Perhaps she had been too rash, but it was too little too late now.

Alistair was overjoyed and his playful charm was about him once again. With a chuckle he said, "Oh, so it's going to be like that is it? All right then, just let me put my glum face on. I'll take my punishment like a man."

Even though Solona was far from pleased with their consensus, she could not help but smile. _Oh Maker_, Alistair sure had a way with her heart.

"Arl Eamon has left for Redcliffe. He says the army has gathered there and is almost ready to march. As soon as we're ready, we should head to Redcliffe ourselves. The Blight awaits right?" he said and left soon after.

Several moments passed as Solona stood alone in the dining hall. She hadn't noticed when her friends had left. A potential disaster was averted. Yet, she could not help but wonder if she had given rise to a new conundrum. No amount of thinking would enable her to predict the future however, and she had no choice but to face the consequences of her actions. The Blight and the Archdemon were more immediate matters and she would have plenty of time to deal with problems later. With a deep breath she decided to focus on her duties. Love could wait for now, she thought, and left for camp.

* * *

><p>With the Landsmeet brought to a successful conclusion, there was but one thing left on the Grey Warden's agenda – to slay the Archdemon ergo bringing the fifth Blight to an end. However, Solona's torment had only just begun. All of Ferelden's allied forces had gathered in her least favorite place in the whole of Thedas – Redcliffe, and the journey was unduly long. The frequency of her nightmares had been on the rise ever since their inception and they had begun to severely scare her. Her dreams left her deprived of sleep and killed her appetite. With very little food and rest, Solona had grown fairly weak. There had been multiple occasions when Solona had thought to tell someone about her dreams and it was mostly Wynne she had considered revealing things to. Ever since the Landsmeet though, she felt uncomfortable around her friends. She did not know if they knew of the state of affairs between her and Alistair, but if they did know, then Wynne would certainly not approve. While Wynne's opinion per se did not matter, what held Solona back was that Wynne had already warned her about the hazards of having a relationship with the heir to the throne and she did not want to admit that she had been wrong. Back then, Solona had argued for argument's sake. She had maintained that their love would conquer all, but Fate had other plans and now their love was debauched.<p>

To further complicate matters, battles too had become more intense. With the big war finally at the doorstep, more darkspawn had moved out of the deep roads and onto the surface lands. Each darkspawn band consisted of more and more emissaries and alphas. Solona, in her weakened state, found it extremely difficult to keep up her spell-casting. The warriors' fighting had in turn become more forceful. With a total of three mages to protect, it took greater effort on their part to keep enemies at bay. This change in tactics came at the cost of sustaining greater damage and increased potion consumption. Bandages and potion ingredients, such as deep mushrooms and reagents were taking up more space in backpacks, replacing food stuffs instead. Another day on the road and everyone would have to starve. Thankfully though, they had reached Redcliffe.

The only person who seemed happy in these desperate times was Alistair. He was always with Solona and always in a good mood. His jokes had increased and so had his kisses. He always held her close to him and he no longer had any issues with public displays of affection. Solona, on the other hand, attributed the increased fondness to the change in their relationship. This sudden boost of confidence, she thought, was because he had begun to take her for granted. She could not complain, however, for it was the result of her own doing and now she had to live with her decision.

* * *

><p>The night sky looked bejeweled. Beautiful stars of every color were scattered like gems for as far as the eye could see. From an alcove in the upper levels of Redcliffe castle, Solona peered out, wondering at her luck. It had been surprise after surprise for her. First, there was the unexpected darkspawn raid on Redcliffe village, which cost their group every vial of lyrium potion and several health poultices. Next was the startling revelation that the horde was actually headed towards Denerim with the Archdemon at the forefront and that it was two days short of reaching the capital. They had been wrong about the horde and consequently, all their planning and the long journey to Redcliffe was a waste. It was a series of mistake after mistake, but the most astonishing thing was what Riordan had told the junior Wardens –<p>

"_Tell me, have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?" asked Riordan looking concerned. _

_It was a strange question indeed. Why were they being taught the importance of being Grey Wardens just before their last battle? She had always assumed that the Grey Wardens were warriors specifically meant to slay darkspawn, but warriors all the same. "I thought the 'necessary' was an exaggeration," she expressed. _

"_It is no exaggeration I'm afraid," asserted Riordan, "The Archdemon may be slain, as any other darkspawn. But should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be enough." There was a sadness in his eyes, yet he elaborated further saying, "The essence of the beast will pass through the taint to the nearest darkspawn and will be reborn anew in that body. The dragon is thus all but immortal. But if the Archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden, its essence travels into the Grey Warden instead."_

"_And…what happens to the Grey Warden?" she queried while knowing full well that it could not be anything nice. _

"_The darkspawn is an empty soulless vessel but a Grey Warden is not," Riordan explained plainly, "The essence of the Archdemon is destroyed and so is the Grey Warden."_

_The explanation had knocked the wind out of both the junior Wardens. It was unforeseeable. Alistair even felt the need to confirm, "Meaning…the Grey Warden who kills the Archdemon…dies?" _

"_Yes," the senior Warden replied, "Without the Archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way."_

"_So it's up to the three of us to kill that thing," Solona said, trying hard to appear unaffected. _

"_If possible, the final blow should be mine to make," Riordan proposed, "I am the eldest and the taint will not spare me much longer. But if I fail, the deed falls on you."_

_It certainly was kind of him to have offered to sacrifice himself, but as he had said, should he fail it would be up to Solona and Alistair to finish the deed. There was no guarantee that even one of them would make it out alive after the battle. Such was the future awaiting them and Solona did not know what to feel, whether grief over not having a future, or indifference for having signed up for such a job in the first place. _

Gazing at the moon certainly had brought her some peace of mind while on the other hand contemplating the outcomes of the Blight was a futile activity. Once again, rendered powerless before destiny, she decided to go to her room to perhaps sleep for the last time in her life.

Lazily she turned away from the alcove and trudged through the hallway. It was a long walk back to her room, but she was finally at the door. As she pushed the door open with her hand, she found yet another surprise waiting for her.

"Do not be alarmed. It is only I," Morrigan announced from the fireplace. Solona was exhausted and in no mood to chat, not after the kind of upsetting news she had received. Slightly irked she said, "Don't you have your own room?"

"I decided that it was time we spoke," Morrigan replied in her usual manner. Slowly she turned around to face Solona and took gentle steps towards her. "I have a plan you see, a way out - the loop in your hole," she said, "I know what happens when the Archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed and that sacrifice could be you. I have come to tell you that this does not need to be."

Solona grew suspicious instantly. Why did Morrigan know that which Riordan had disclosed to her and Alistair in private? "How do you know this?" she asked.

Morrigan quickly brushed the question away – "I know a great many things. How I know is not quite as important as what I am offering you, however. I offer you a way out, a way out for all Grey Wardens that there need be no sacrifice. A ritual, performed on the eve of battle in the dark of night."

What Morrigan mentioned seemed interesting to say the least. She could tell that she had Solona's undivided attention. However, her listener squinted and said, "Nothing comes without a price."

"Perhaps," said Morrigan coolly, "But that price need not be so unbearable, especially if there is much to be gained. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to offer, nothing more."

Solona was intensely curious. To be able to kill the Archdemon without dying as a consequence would equal nothing less than a boon. It meant that she still had a chance of being with Alistair. Morrigan's proposal therefore, warranted a hearing. "Very well, tell me," Solona said.

With brisk steps Morrigan moved towards the bed and sat down. "What I propose is this," she said carefully, "Convince Alistair to lay with me, here, tonight and from this ritual a child shall be conceived within me. The child will bear the taint and when the Archdemon is slain its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The Archdemon is still destroyed with no Grey Warden dying in the process."

When Morrigan was done describing the ritual however, Solona was appalled. How in the Maker's name could Morrigan even think of asking Solona to partake of her lover? It was perhaps the most insensitive thing anyone could ever do. "And why aren't you talking to Alistair about this?" she asked, annoyed.

Having sensed the rising tension, Morrigan responded saying, "Alistair despises me! You know this."

And seeing as that attempt had failed, she tried once again, only more persuasively – "He rarely listens to reason, but he would listen to you. You of all people could influence him. Think about what I offer you: you will live, as will Alistair. You could slay the Archdemon and live as a hero, something no Grey Warden has ever done. In return I conceive a child, one who will be born with the soul of an old god. After this is done, you allow me to walk away and you do not follow, ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish."

Solona, though upset, could see why Morrigan had raised the issue before her and not before him. It still did not guarantee success, however. "And what makes you think that he'll agree to such a thing?" Solona asked, trying to show Morrigan that she was asking for the impossible.

"If you care for him, as you seem to, you will convince him to," Morrigan asserted, "Consider what the alternative might be. Do you think Alistair will fail to do his duty as the future king and save his country? And if you take the blow instead, he loses the woman he loves. How do you think he would feel about that? I think you have many good reasons to tell him to save his own life. I think you should consider them carefully."

Solona could see that there was great truth in Morrigan's words. Alistair was a very dutiful man and he would not hesitate to give up his life for the sake of his people. On the other hand lay the possibility of her own death, and like any normal living creature, she too was afraid of dying. Being the strongest Grey Warden in a country, or being the most powerful mage could not eliminate the fear of death. She did not want to die and at the same time, she could not bear to think of sacrificing Alistair in her stead.

The more Solona mulled over the decision, the more obvious the choice became. She wanted to live with Alistair and that, according to Morrigan, could be accomplished provided the ritual was carried out. Her mind urged her to choose the rational solution, to save both herself and Alistair, while her heart wept, unable to picture him with any woman besides her. There was also the fact that she had chosen to be Alistair's mistress, and if she wanted to live with him, then she would be one among at least two women. She would have to accept that she could never become the sole woman in his life, and the sooner she got used to playing second fiddle, the better. Having evaluated all her options, she finally chose to agree. "All right, I accept," she said.

Morrigan was pleased. "A wise decision," she assured, "I shall wait here then while you go speak with Alistair. I urge you to be convincing."

Solona headed towards Alistair's room, thinking that with a little explanation, he too would see the rationale behind accepting the proposal and that he would not resist. However, it took a lot of effort to sway his opinion. He was fervently opposed to the whole idea. She could not discern clearly the cause of his dissent. Whether he was against bedding another woman or he was against bedding Morrigan in particular, she could not tell. It was of little consequence though, for he did eventually accede to Solona's will.

Scant moments later, they had returned to Solona's room where Morrigan waited expectantly. After what seemed like a wasteful attempt at procrastination on Alistair's behalf, he agreed to get the ritual underway and both he and Morrigan had left. Solona was alone for the reminder of the night.

She closed the door and proceeded to remove her armor. Every inch of her body ached from exhaustion and strain and her mind too was preoccupied. Rest was much needed at the time and she decided to try and get some while she still could.

Listlessly she crawled into bed and closed her eyes, waiting to be whisked away by sleep. But there were so many interferences, so much had happened over the past few days, things that no one could ever have anticipated. It was overwhelming. She tried to block it all out by listening to the crickets, or peering into the flickering fire. She tried hard, very hard, but nothing seemed to work and her thoughts kept returning to Alistair.

'_No!'_ she thought.

Her life had no direction until she had met him. No man had ever made Solona fall head over heels for him before. He always made her happy. So many nights they had spent in each other's company, kissing and making love. So many things that they shared, so many intimate moments, secrets, joys and sorrows they had known together. Alistair was everything to her and he was meant to be hers and hers alone. However, she had, of her own volition, forfeited the right to be his one and only. And to add insult to injury, she had even forced Alistair to sleep with the woman he despised the most!

'_Please, no!' she thought. _

Despite Solona's most sincere efforts to the contrary, she couldn't help but think of Alistair and Morrigan together. It was revolting to say the least, and yet she couldn't stop herself. There was simply no getting rid of those images, those flashes of her man lying with Morrigan.

Anger, confusion and sorrow had all taken Solona by storm. Frenzied and anxious, she sat up on her bed, unable to calm herself.

'_No, no, no!' _she thought.

It was wrong, it was all so very wrong. Soon she realized that she had committed the biggest mistake of her life when she thought that she could share Alistair with someone, anyone. The very idea of Alistair in the arms of another woman was unbearable, but she had agreed to it all. In fact, she had begged for it. She had given up everything in exchange for misery and tears had started streaming down her face.

She would not surrender to circumstance, however. She knew she had to fight it and she would. There was simply no way that she could ever accept being Alistair's mistress even though she had agreed to it and after much contemplation, she concluded that she would make everything right again. With great determination, she convinced herself that things could still be fixed. She could still stop Alistair and Morrigan from doing anything. '_There was still time, all was not lost, not yet', _she said to herselfand rushed to the door. Quietly she opened it and decided to tiptoe across to his room, for she did not want to disturb anyone else.

Carefully and with great optimism she had taken her first steps, when the door to Alistair's room flung open. Solona's heart almost stopped and she froze in place. Her eyes shot were wide open as she watched Morrigan emerge from his room and heading in the opposite direction.

Several seconds had passed since Morrigan had left when Solona finally understood what she had witnessed. She knew then, that it was too late. The damage was done and she was devastated.

* * *

><p>The sun had risen over Redcliffe and the time to march had finally come. Horns resounded, orders were issued and preparations were almost complete. The army had assembled in Redcliffe village with every able bodied man bearing arms, ready to fight the ultimate evil on the face of Thedas. The lady Warden, the future king of Ferelden and their companions were at the forefront waiting to lead their followers into glory.<p>

Alistair, although not yet king, was expected to take command. He could see it in the eyes of the soldiers. They looked at him with pride and with hope. They looked to him to grant them victory over the vile darkspawn, but he knew deep down that nothing was certain. The possibility of his death was all too real to be ignored. Ritual or no ritual, he could still die before he even got a chance to face the Archdemon. The same held true for Riordan and his beloved. They could all die and his country could be destroyed completely. However, his people could not be told this. It was necessary for the men to feel motivated and strong. _Oh Maker, _it was too much responsibility and he hated it.

Right from the moment that he had awoken on that day, he felt strangely ill at ease. Whether it was the after effect of having sex with Morrigan or was it the result of being called 'your majesty' by every single servant in Redcliffe castle, he did not know. One thing was certain however, he wanted nothing more than for the discomfort to go away and fortunately enough, Arl Eamon took command of the men. Alistair was relieved and he felt that he could perhaps enjoy being a Grey Warden for a little while longer.

They had left for Denerim soon after and with every step he took, he grew nostalgic. This would probably be the last time that he would fight alongside his companions. He would probably never see the staid qunari, the boisterous dwarf or the libertine elf again. The nutty chantry sister could possibly return to the chantry or go back to Orlais and the wise, motherly healer might return to the Circle. However, the most distressing thing was Solona. Ever since morning, she had seemed somehow different. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, her movements were languid and it appeared as if she wanted to be left alone. But Alistair decided not to dwell on it too much. There was a battle waiting for them and he would have a lot of time later to cheer his lady up.

* * *

><p>The armies were able to cover ground much faster than expected as there were no darkspawn attacking, obstructing their path forward. Apparently, every last genlock had gone to Denerim to aid the Archdemon, laying waste to the land as they made their way. Everything had been corrupted. Trees had been cut down, houses had been razed, and half eaten corpses were strewn about, but the scenery had become more gruesome as they approached the gates of Denerim. What they beheld was sheer horror. The walls of the city that once boasted the ability to withstand the mightiest of attacks had begun crumbling. From a high point just beyond the gates, the allied forced could see the darkspawn, clawing on the stone, killing anything and everything and feasting on the innards of the dead. None of them, not even the Wardens, had witnessed the destruction that a Blight could truly bring and now it was time that they put an end to it all.<p>

With great speed and purpose the allied army charged towards the city. It was relatively easy to dispatch the strays that had remained at the gates since the bulk of the horde was in the interior of Denerim. Riordan, however, expressed some doubt. According to him, the army would not hold much longer and therefore it was important that the Archdemon be slain as quickly as possible. He suggested that Solona should take Alistair and no more than two others and head for Fort Drakon.

Every single one of her friends wanted to accompany her to Fort Drakon to fight the Archdemon, but none more than Alistair. He wanted to see things through to the end as a Grey Warden and he wanted to be there to protect her when she would need it the most. However, Solona chose to leave him behind to defend the gates. He was disappointed and wondered why she would do such a thing. Was it because she believed that Morrigan's ritual would save them? Did she truly place so much faith in that vicious woman? He wanted to know.

"So I'm not going with you I see, any particular reason?" he asked.

"You're going to be king, Alistair. You belong out here with your men," she replied, all the while looking away. Somehow, he felt that she was hiding something, something serious.

"Where I belong, is in there with you, as a Grey Warden," he retorted, "But there's no use in arguing about it is there? We don't have time and you are a stubborn, stubborn woman."

"That I am," Solona admitted and a sad smile adorned her face.

At that moment, all he wanted was to pull her into his arms. She was all that mattered to him and her smile was motivation enough for him to hold his ground at the battlefield. With one last confession of love, they had parted ways. Riordan went into the city alone, Solona had gone after the two darkspawn generals in Denerim before chasing after the Archdemon and Alistair stayed back with army, in defense of the gates.

For several hours the battle raged on. The darkspawn wouldn't quit trying to enter the city, while Solona had her hands full, fighting ogre after ogre in the market district and the alienage. The defenders did enjoy some good fortune though, for the gates remained secure and Solona had managed to kill both the darkspawn generals. With a high morale she, Zevran, Sten and Wynne had reached the foot of Fort Drakon when she felt something, a pang. Another band of darkspawn had started to attack her then and she could not afford to waste time thinking about what she had just felt.

With spells like the mana clash, she managed to debilitate any emissaries and she cut down the grunts with her sword. Sten, with his menacing presence, waded through the sea of darkspawn, drawing them towards him and slaughtering them. Zevran, with a bow, and Wynne, with her healing magic, aided them from a distance. The last hurdle had been overcome and just when they had cleared the path leading to the entrance of the Fort, Solona understood what the pang had been.

It was Riordan. The senior warden was dead, but the Archdemon was still alive. It was everything she had feared for and now the future of an entire nation rested on her shoulders. She took a deep breath and stepped inside the fort.

Things would certainly end, one way or another.

* * *

><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>Sorry for the excessively long chapter, but I have a good reason. You see, I will not be able to resume writing until mid-December and I thought that it would only be fair to treat you guys to a long read.

I hope you guys enjoyed reading it and reviews are always welcome (authors can use an ego boost once in a while, you know :-) ) Thanks again for reading.


	7. Chapter 6 : Fear

**Author Notes:** I'm so sorry for such a long gap. I hope you guys can forgive me. It's just that I've had so many things going on, so many job interviews, so many exams, assignments and other stuff that I just couldn't find time to start. But anyway, I've managed to write something. I really hope you guys like it.

* * *

><p>What is fear? It is an emotion like any other, like love or anger and yet, it is intense and in a lot of cases, debilitating. The mind was capable of thinking up elaborate scenes of pain, discomfort and unpleasantness merely in anticipation when crippled with fear. It is therefore safe to say, that fear is the most universal, verbally inexplicable feeling that any living being could know.<p>

As someone leading the battle against the darkspawn during a Blight, Alistair understood all too well the emotional experience that fear brought on. He was facing the greatest harbinger of fear after all. Only the brave could withstand the morbid events that their own fear stricken minds showed and even then, a vast majority of them would break when it was the life of their loved ones being threatened. All through his years in the Chantry, training to be a templar, he had read of traitors and cowards willing to sell away their cause. It was detestable, he argued, to give away ones honor no matter what the reason, whether money, love or fear. All along, he had never understood the cause behind the many defections that scribes had meticulously penned down in history books. Not until this day, the day the Blight had turned into a full blown war, the day that he would finally take his place as king in the forefront, guiding his soldiers, the day he would most likely lose what he treasured the most.

Countless people had died and several others were dying. Swords crashed against shields and darkspawn and men screamed in agony as blood oozed from their wounds draining their life away. However, it was neither the bone-chilling cries nor the dwindling numbers of the allied army that excited the fear in Alistair. It was when he felt a pang, like something within him had just disappeared, lost forever – he had sensed the death of Riordan through the taint. The realization was instantaneous and the experience, surreal. Moments before he could finish off one more of the accursed darkspawn in front of him, the feeling overcame him. As if frozen solid, he stood still and looked at the battered Hurlock before him, horror struck.

It was shocking, to say the least, that the worst case scenario had occurred. He recalled how, three nights or so ago, Solona had talked him into agreeing to Morrigan's ritual and he remembered vividly, how reluctant he was to go through with it.

_The room in Redcliffe castle brought back memories. It looked and smelled just like it used to. Everything seemed to be the same, but it was all so different. Alistair went straight for the bed and lay down. A long and arduous journey was about to end; all his efforts as a Grey Warden would finally bear fruit starting tomorrow, he thought. The feeling was pleasant when he thought of the whole thing as the end of his mission, but it was quite unsettling when he thought of it as the onset of war with darkspawn. And Riordan's message had only made the anxiety worse._

_More exhausting than the efforts of the entire year and more troubling than the responsibilities entrusted to him as king was the realization that it was either death or separation from Solona that awaited him at the end of his task. No matter how hard he tried, he just could not get her out of his head. It was hard not to recall what it felt like to be with her. Her touch, her kiss and everything about her, including the things that annoyed him were incomparable and special. Closing his eyes only made the feeling that much more intense. He needed rest, but he wanted from the bottom of his heart to spend what could be his last moments with the only woman he had ever loved. Oh, the activities he had in mind if the two had been together, Maker! He had even tried to meet Solona in her room to __**discuss**__ something in private but his plans were foiled by Morrigan. Imagination would have to suffice for now. It was the one thing that neither the Blight nor his responsibilities, not even Morrigan could deprive him of. It was important to remain cheerful, he thought, for morale was everything. Despair would translate to defeat and so he closed his eyes, picturing in his head, all that he would do to celebrate after the Blight. _

_A few minutes passed and he certainly was smiling to himself happily when there was an unexpected knock on the door. Puzzled and disgruntled that he had to stop halfway through his imaginary post-Blight celebrations, he trotted to the door wanting nothing more than to quickly dispatch the visitor and return to his fantasies. However, his joy knew no bounds when he saw Solona at the other side of the door. "I see you can't sleep either," he said with a mischievous grin._

_Hope revived within him for he could very well carry out all the activities he had planned for the two of them. To think that Solona wanted that which he wanted was wonderful._

"_I also saw Morrigan outside your room, earlier and the look she gave me, it was icy even for her," he went on, as he closed the door while gesturing her to come inside._

_A few more seconds passed and all Solona did was to meticulously avoid looking at him. That was not normal if she was looking for some play. She was not the shy kind, not with him at least. "Is something up?" he asked, curious._

"_Yes," she said, carefully, "Morrigan told me something very important."_

_And his high spirits plunged – 'There goes my fun time,' he thought. "This is what I get for becoming king. Everyone always brings you the bad news. So what is it then – Rats running amok? Cheese supplies run low? I can take it." _

_Clearly, he thought that the matter was a small one. He certainly was not prepared for what was to come. _

"_What if I told you there was a way to avoid dying tomorrow?" she questioned. Alistair could sense her discomfort. _

"_You mean with the Archdemon, right? If you mean running away, I can't do that. But you don't mean that, do you? What is this about anyway?"_

_Again, Solona turned away and answered slowly, "I need you to take part in a magic ritual."_

_The answer seemed genuine and reasonably harmless to Alistair. It was just a ritual, how bad could it be? "Oh, something Morrigan cooked up, no doubt. What do you need me to do?" he asked casually._

"_You need to sleep with her," Solona blurted out._

_And that had to be the funniest thing anyone had said to him in a long time. "Cute. This is payback, right, for all the jokes?" he said with hearty laughter and waited for Solona to show some hint of enjoyment. However, he was the only one appreciating the joke. Several moments passed and Solona did not admit that she was teasing. He was still uncertain though. 'This could not be true, there was no way that Solona was not joking', he thought. _

"_You're actually serious? Wow, be killed by the Archdemon or sleep with Morrigan. How does someone make that kind of choice?" he chuckled as he spoke, thinking that his charms would get Solona to finally give up the act. Yet, nothing happened. She did not even blink. _

"_You're not actually asking me this, are you? What kind of ritual is this, anyway?" he asked, a little more seriously and dreadfully apprehensively. _

"_Some kind of ancient magic, Flemeth's probably," she replied, looking troubled. _

"_Well that's reassuring. Wait, no it isn't!" _

_It was certain though, that Solona was completely serious about the whole affair and Alistair found himself at a loss of words. This time he truly was alone when deciding what to do. _

_Slightly agitated and desperate, he wanted one last time to be sure of what Solona had just told him. "Look, even if I was willing to entertain this idea…and I'm not saying I am…is this really what you want me to do? Are you sure…?"_

"_We don't have time to go over this. Just agree," she said, seemingly eager to leave but her response had only angered him. _

"_Agree? Just like that? No, I won't do that. You're the one who said I needed a spine. So now, I have one and I'm not going to just…do this…without a better reason," – A reason, which he was sure, she would not be able to provide. _

_He was outraged and he could not believe that Solona had just asked him to bed another woman and not just any other woman; it was Morrigan. The very thought of having to live his fantasies with Morrigan replacing Solona was horrendous, even if it meant living a longer life. It was not worth living if he would be tortured endlessly with memories of making love to evil incarnate. Death would be a better choice, he thought. _

_Once more, Solona attempted to convince him – "Do you really want to risk dying tomorrow?"_

_And before Alistair had even considered what he would say, words had started to spill forth - "We don't know what will happen tomorrow. Riordan could end it or both of us could die before we even get close," he said. However, when he was done speaking, he realized what Solona had been trying to tell him all along. If Riordan were to die before reaching the Archdemon, either he or Solona would have to sacrifice their life for the nation. He knew that a life without Solona would be an empty one and he was not about send her off to die. _

_Finally, after understanding the rationale behind Solona's request, he murmured, "But, if it could…possibly spare you or Riordan, then…all right. Against my better judgment, I'll agree to this thing." _

Only when he had felt Riordan's passing did he realize how foolish it would have been to disagree with Solona. But before he could feel happy for having agreed to the ritual, a new possibility – an ugly possibility – had presented itself. _What if Morrigan was lying?_

_What if the ritual was a failure? What if Solona is killed along with the Archdemon? _

The questions were few, but powerful – small, yet crippling. The situation was a grim reminder of Ostagar. Alistair was in the tower of Ishal, so close to Duncan and yet, he could not help him. The regret had weighed heavy on his heart ever since, but the Maker had finally given him a second chance – a chance to redeem himself. Solona was headed for Fort Drakon and he was at the gates. If he were to run, he would surely make it in time. There was hope still and Alistair was determined. Although he could not save Duncan, he was not going to let Solona share Duncan's fate. He would save her, one way or another.

Soon enough, his senses returned to him and his muscles tightened. Instinct took over, motivated by fear and he decided to head towards Fort Drakon leaving the army behind. There was ample time to reach Solona, he thought, and there was strength in numbers. The more people attacking the Archdemon, the greater the chances that it would perish and the Blight would end.

* * *

><p>Many minutes had passed since Alistair had left for the prison castle. He was running out of breath as he attempted to reach Fort Drakon. He chose to avoid the market district and the route through the alienage, for stragglers could still be around to slow him down, preventing him from reaching the Fort in time. And a wise decision it was – to use the alleyways instead. The streets were mostly empty with buildings burning on either side. Dead bodies were scattered about everywhere with no trace of any survivors and there were no darkspawn. While it was good that he could run to the Fort without any interruptions, there was a downside to it. Just a little while ago, his darkspawn senses tingled and he had felt the Archdemon call for its minions. That could only mean one thing, that Solona had reached the dragon and that the mother of all battles had begun. The alleyways were abandoned because the horde was right by their tainted old god, at the tower. He had to hurry.<p>

Several minutes passed and Alistair could see some darkspawn in the distance, indicating that the Denerim prison was close by. Now, all he had to do was make his way to the top of the tower.

* * *

><p>Fort Drakon was overrun with darkspawn it seemed, and even so it was easy to sweep the castle clean. Emissaries were not infrequent but their intelligence too was no match for Solona and her teammates. The biggest surprise within, perhaps, was Sandal, son of the dwarven merchant Bohdan. How innocently he stood in a room full of darkspawn corpses! Who had massacred the darkspawn was a mystery though. Regardless, it was a golden opportunity to stock up on some potions, Solona thought. She would need all the help imaginable against the Archdemon. After buying potions worth every copper she had, all that was left was to kill the serpent waiting on the roof.<p>

With every step she took towards the roof her heart beat faster, sweat trickled down her forehead and her breathing became abnormal. Gripping her staff as tightly as she could, she opened the door and prepared herself for what she was about to face. And there it was, right in front of her eyes – the Archdemon. It was huge, fearsome and very angry.

Solona assessed the situation and it was obvious that the attack on the Archdemon had to proceed as fast as possible. They did not have much time before reinforcements would arrive and they also had limited supply of lyrium and other potions. Quickly she eyed the rooftop and there were ballistae located in several places. Either someone had foreseen a massive aerial assault on Fort Drakon or the Fereldens were incredibly lucky to find heavy artillery so close to the Archdemon when they most needed it.

What was certain, however, was that ranged attacks would be ideal. Having fought the high dragon at Haven, they had some awareness of the kind of offenses a dragon was capable of. They would have a greater chance of defeating the dragon if it were attacked from all directions and at all times. This was possible either with archers or mages. Soon after, Solona had decided what she would do.

She said, "Wynne, I won't be able to heal much. So I want you to take this lyrium. We're counting on you to make it out of this alive. Zevran, and I will attack the dragon and Sten, you will have to defend us."

When her friends had agreed to the strategy, Solona called for the Circle mages to assist them and together, they began attacking the dragon. They were also joined by First Enchanter Irving and Arl Eamon. It was emboldening although not ensuring victory.

* * *

><p>It seemed like ages ago that the fight had begun and it raged on still. Attacks issued back and forth continuously. While the dragon had progressively become more offensive it seemed to be unaffected for the most part. The defenders on the other hand died one by one. The dragon's hide was too strong for arrows and the mages' attacks must have been like mosquito bites – annoying, but ultimately ineffective. With the darkspawn infantry now aiding their master, the rooftop was overcrowded. There was nowhere that Solona could go to be able to attack and remain out of sight at the same time. The tide was turning against the defenders for sure.<p>

A quick glance at her friends showed Solona that time was running out. Zevran was no longer in a position to attack. The reinforcements were too numerous and defending Wynne from them was imperative, not to mention, time consuming and tiresome. Sten was occupied, trying to defend her from the many shrieks and grunts. He was wounded and his armor was stained with his own blood just as much as with the blood of the many darkspawn he had vanquished. Wynne was by a ballista, attacking the dragon only when it was within the range of the ballista. But she would not be able to heal them any longer for she had just used up her last vial of lyrium. Their helpers, the Circle mages, were dying and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Solona too was not to last much longer. She had no more lyrium and she was lying on the floor, bleeding from a gash along her midriff. Healing was meaningless, for momentary remedial measures were not sufficient to prevent the wound from opening up again. The wound would remain closed provided she rested her body and that was not possible at the moment. As was natural for any creature, Solona had started to panic. There was little she could do now and thoughts of death and impending failure made matters worse. She was losing both blood and courage very fast.

With her vision going in and out of focus, she understood that the end was close. She felt her death approach. How ironic it would be to die when she finally had everything anyone could ever want out of life and how ironic it was that she could not even say goodbye to the one she cherished the most. But it could not be helped now. Consciously Solona pushed out the lingering thoughts to try and concentrate for those precious moments she had left. The Blight had to be stopped. The Archdemon was all that needed to be killed. The infantry wouldn't last once the dragon was slain and the only way of slaying the dragon was for a Grey Warden to sink his sword into the beast.

Slowly she sat up and looked around. The dragon was in front of her but a fair distance away. The difficulty now lay in keeping the dragon on the ground long enough for her to stab it. A few seconds of thinking brought forth a solution. If someone could hit the dragon with a spear from any of the ballistae while Solona was close enough, then there was a chance that she could slay the dragon. But it was a gamble and she would need assistance.

Once Solona had risen to her feet, she ran as fast as she could toward Sten.

"Sten, get the First Enchanter and Arl Eamon over to where Wynne and Zevran are," she said to him as quickly as she could and made her way towards the veteran healer.

Wynne and Zevran were surrounded by grunts and shrieks. It took some effort before she could reach them, but once she was joined by Sten and the others, they could quickly dispatch of their dimwitted opponents. While they would soon be rejoined by more grunts, the time interval was long enough for Solona to explain her plan to her party.

"Sten, Zevran, Arl Eamon, I need you to attack the dragon's feet and distract it. When that happens, Wynne and First Enchanter Irving, you have to be able to hit the dragon with a spear from the ballista. If everything goes well, then I will have an opportunity to cut off the beast's head or something and end this, once and for all."

The plan, though plausible, was outrageous and unconvincing. The reaction from her party was almost unanimously negative.

"Warden, you know as well as I do, that this plan is more likely to fail than anything else," Arl Eamon said.

But there was no arguing her out of it. "Well we won't know until we try, now will we," she responded.

When everyone was ready, Sten, Arl Eamon and Zevran charged at the dragon. The grunts were approaching quickly and the onslaught would resume very soon. The precious window of opportunity was fast fleeting away.

Once the serpent was fully engaged with three warriors at its feet, Solona grabbed a nearby darkspawn sword and left Wynne and First Enchanter Irving to fire the ballista. She ran towards the dragon and hoped dearly for the spears to hit their target.

The first spear was fired and it missed. A second spear was fired and it missed as well. She was almost at the dragon's feet and the grunts had reached too. They could not afford to miss with the next spear.

The third spear was fired and, Maker be praised, it hit the target. The missile hit the dragon in the back and it was dazed just as Solona slid underneath the beast. With the sword held upright, she was able to slit the serpent's neck in the nick of time. Their plan was a success and the Archdemon screeched in pain as it fell down. Solona was now looking over the creature and with one powerful motion she thrust the sword deep into the beast's heart.

* * *

><p>The entrance to Fort Drakon was choked with darkspawn. Although most of them were disinterested in fighting Alistair, carving a path through them was a challenge. There were simply too many of them. Every time he approached a grunt, it would start attacking him and a few others would get attracted to the little brawl. While fighting three to four darkspawn at a time was nothing out of the ordinary for Alistair, fighting wave after wave of them was beginning to affect him significantly. Even though he had killed nearly thirty or forty of his enemies, it seemed like he was drifting further and further away from the entrance. His limbs were beginning to ache. His movement was getting slower with every swing of his sword and with no healers in the vicinity, remaining unhurt was important. But defensive fighting meant that he would not be able to reach the tower top in time and that was not an option. Having made the decision to attack till his body gave out, he charged.<p>

A little while later, he noticed that his offensive tactics proved effective. He was inside the castle and getting to the roof was now possible. He rushed past any darkspawn inside, ignoring them altogether and raced to the stairs. He was almost there. He had almost made it when he felt something. He could feel the Archdemon fading away. The dragon's voice was disappearing slowly and that was unmistakably a sign of the serpent's demise.

Suddenly he could see darkspawn turn on their heel and flee. Scores of grunts and shrieks were rushing down the flight of stairs, probably heading back to their nests in the Deep Roads. And that served as proof of the end of the fifth Blight. He was relieved, overjoyed even, to think that the Blight was over and he had survived. It was as though the fatigue had vanished and his body felt feather light. Enthusiastic and euphoric, he rushed to the rooftop.

Morrigan wasn't lying after all, he thought. The ritual was successful and soon he would be with his sweetheart. Words could not express the state of pure bliss he was in at that moment. Everything that he could ever have dreamed of was finally going to come true. He was alive and he had a lot of wonderful things to look forward to.

Once again, the entrance to the roof was overcrowded, but this time the darkspawn were trampling each other attempting to leave as quickly as possible. After all of them had fled, Alistair ran into the rooftop searching for his companions. What he beheld was not quite what he had expected to see.

* * *

><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>As usual, I feel the need to make a few things clear.

1) I have covered the battle in detail because I thought it was very important. It is perhaps the single most important incident (something like a turning point) in the story so far (in my opinion).

2) I will be uploading the next chapter in mid-February. Do not expect it to be out any sooner than that (sorry).

And now for a few things which I think I will need from now on...

I need some feedback (preferably in the form of PMs) on what you guys think needs to be changed or improved about my writing style or the flow, etc. For one, I end up taking a lot of time before uploading a chapter because I create several alternative versions of the same chapter and I upload the one which I think would satisfy a majority of the readers. I need to know what I'm expected to provide in my chapters.

- do you guys want more dialogues from now on? Or do the descriptions do a better job?

- do you guys think that the transitions are smooth?

- is there any chapter which was too confusing (because I think a few chapters were a little...messy...with too many transitions, too many flashbacks, too much jumping between character POVs, etc.)

- what exactly did you find annoying?

If you can help me with these questions, I promise I'll try my best to fix it.

Thanks for reading (and do respond).


	8. Chapter 7 : Aftermath part 1

**Author Notes: **Hey there! Surprise, surprise! Here's a little treat for you guys for putting up with my long winded chapters. :P

This one is a two-parter like several others to come in future. The second part of 'Aftermath' will be out by 15th of Feb, I promise.

Hope you like it.

* * *

><p>Urthemiel was dead. The fifth Blight was quelled. The Fereldens had stopped the biggest catastrophe to hit the world in centuries; the kind that, if left unchecked, could leave whole centuries' worth of mess behind. Today was truly a momentous day in the history of Thedas.<p>

A wave of jubilation washed over the allied army, at least over those who remained. The sight of darkspawn heading for the hills was comparable to the sight of shooting stars. It was something very few people got to witness and those who did considered themselves to be extremely lucky. Teagan Guerrin, the only Bann to be fighting shoulder to shoulder with foot soldiers of the country was relieved. He felt blessed, for he and his fellow countrymen had been saved and, Maker was he exhausted. After all, he had been travelling and fighting ever since the undead had started attacking Redcliffe castle. But it had all culminated with the Blight. He could finally relax and maybe do what he should have done a long time ago. If only he could find his majesty, King Alistair, and return to the Royal Palace, victorious.

Back at Fort Drakon, the joy of triumph seemed nonexistent. The castle was mostly empty except for the roofs. For a prison, Fort Drakon sure had a spotless top; at least it did until a few days ago. Not anymore though. The once beautifully carved stone floor was now decorated with dead bodies and severed limbs, some human, the others less so. A mixture of red and black liquids was smeared all over the place. It was blood from humans and darkspawn, but mostly from the Archdemon. The sight was fearsome. However, even this dark cloud had a silver lining. There were survivors. There was not a total loss of life.

Some atop the tower were still alive, but only barely. Arl Eamon had fought in this battle after a long hiatus. He was wounded in several places but First Enchanter Irving was attending to him. He knew the basics of healing even though he was no expert like Wynne. Sten and Zevran too were injured, but not nearly as much as Arl Eamon. And while Wynne had received the least wounds, she was the most fatigued; healing was anything but child's play. Most of the other mages were dead. But those who were alive were in no shape to perform magic for days to come.

Chunks of metal from discarded weapons and armor screeched as the survivors walked over them going towards their comrades in arms. Everyone had cuts and bruises over their bodies but one among them seemed to be hurt exceptionally severely – the mage Warden who lay motionless across the dragon. And while it was no mystery that each of them was thinking of the same thing, only one of them had to courage to voice his thoughts – "Is she dead?"

* * *

><p>The fade – the realm of ever changing objects and beings – was as familiar to the mages as it was to spirits. Ideally it should have felt like a second home to a mage, but that was seldom true. Although the Fade was the source of the enchanters' magic, it was also the place where their minds and bodies were under constant threat of being invaded by malicious entities – demons. To the dead, however, it mattered not and therefore, there was no reason for Solona to fear.<p>

"So, I am finally dead," she said to herself.

It had to be true. If she were alive she would have been on the tower top, but instead she was in the Fade. There was no mistake. Her spirit had finally passed into the Fade where she would wander aimlessly for the rest of eternity.

How interesting it was, she reckoned, to be in the Fade and to be carefree. No more attracting demons or getting lured into becoming an abomination. No more fearing the Chantry or being hunted by templars. Perhaps it was a good thing to have died in battle and maybe she was thankful that Morrigan's ritual had failed. After all, death was better than the alternative – to live a life with constant regret; to have her love and to have lost it at the same time.

She recalled how she had decided to leave Denerim once and for all if she were to survive the Blight. She recalled her decision to walk out on her promise to Alistair: the promise to always be by his side, to be with him through thick and thin. The discomfort that she would cause both to herself and her dearest was too much. Truly, death was less unpleasant. Death was freedom.

But along with this unimaginable freedom from all forms of responsibilities and pain there came boredom. Well, eternity was a long time and drifting around wasn't exactly entertaining enough. So, once Solona was up on her feet, she decided to walk around a little and familiarize herself with the mutable surroundings.

Bit by bit she took note of how much the surroundings were similar to the Royal Palace in Denerim. Every few steps away she saw replicas of castle servants and other objects. What was even more interesting was that the copies of the castle hands moved about and acted like they really would. It was an amazing sight. Never before had Solona noticed the Fade in such detail.

With every passing minute the environment developed. More and more objects were being added in the background, familiar faces had started to appear and soon enough, conversations started to take place, the likes of which Solona had never thought possible. She was surprised to see the fidelity with which some of her acquaintances were rendered. However, Solona was flabbergasted when a replica of Arl Eamon manifested before her and walked straight up to her.

"Ah, there you are Warden, or, should I call you 'my Queen'?" said the fake Arl Eamon.

It was the strangest thing, Solona thought. How could an imitation willed into being have a conversation with a real spirit like her? Moreover, why was the Arl's imitation willing to call her Queen?

"What is it to be then?" the impersonation asked again.

"First of all, you're not Arl Eamon. I know that. But how is it that you're talking to me? I'm real. You're not," Solona replied.

Something about her answer must have been incredibly humorous, for the impersonation burst out laughing. Once it was finished appreciating the joke, whatever it was, there came another impersonation by its side. This time, it was Jowan.

"We are all equally real and equally unreal," the new mimic said, "And we are all here because of you."

Solona grew confused. Why was any of this happening? "This…is not possible. It is simply not possible," she murmured. There was something very wrong about it all. She looked away hoping to make some sense out of the latest developments but when her eyes shifted from her interlocutors to the surroundings, she could not tell if it was the Fade of if she really was in the Royal Palace.

"Listen, Solona," Jowan said, getting back her attention, "I know that you have always regretted not being able to save me from the Templars that day and I just want you to know that it's all over now. The Templars are no longer after me."

"Oh, no. This is not possible. None of this is real. I am in the Fade and all of you are a part of it." Solona said, attempting to rationalize everything, to remember how exactly it was that such a situation came to be. However, try as she might, the memory that seemed so vivid merely moments ago was all but gone. She just could not recollect what had happened.

Something was amiss and Solona became anxious. She wanted to get as far away from there as quickly as she could. But as soon as she turned around she heard a voice that she never wanted to hear again.

"I am real, Solona, and so are you," Alistair spoke as he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close. The surroundings changed accordingly and the two of them were now in a small, dimly lit room.

"This world is real. My love for you is real. Why don't you believe me?" he purred and proceeded to kiss her gently.

While the kiss was wonderful, as always, it was also unusual in that she felt drained and tired. Her mind was agitated over whether it was real or not but her body could not cope. So desperate she was to feel happy and content.

"Give yourself to me, my dear," he begged and Solona wanted to do just that.

"Yes, let me inside and I will please you forever."

His words rung in her ears and that was when she understood everything. It was a demon attempting to fool her, to tempt her. But it still did not make sense. Although it was certain that she was dealing with a demon, she was still not sure about one thing: Why did a demon want to deceive another fellow spirit? It was common knowledge that demons only went after mages while they dreamt. So, since a demon was indeed after her, it must mean that she was dreaming, which in turn meant that she was far from dead.

The thought of being alive was troubling, but Solona was glad that the realization came to her sooner rather than later. With what little energy she had left, she pushed away the imposter. Gradually, her strength seemed to return and the little room that the demon had fabricated began to dissolve revealing the undulating terrain of the Fade.

"You almost had me there," Solona chuckled as she spoke, "But too bad. I'm on to you now."

* * *

><p>Two whole days Wynne had spent taking care of her unconscious student, the savior of Ferelden. Even with the help of other skilled healers, it was no easy task. Wynne knew that it was one thing to deal with an unconscious person and something completely different to deal with their loved ones. While she was certain that they would manage to revive Solona somehow, Alistair was a source of some frustration. Right from the moment he saw his fellow Warden passed out on top of Fort Drakon, he insisted on being with her at all times. But that would hardly have been a problem, if all he did was to remain at her side. In fact, his constant presence had made the treatment nearly impossible and with the help of Arl Eamon and their other companions, Wynne had ensured that Alistair was kept as far away Solona as possible, at least until she was conscious again.<p>

All would have been well however, if things were as simple as they had initially appeared to be. Solona had been stable for the first day, her wounds had closed up but she would not wake. Nothing seemed to work – smelling salts, magic, pain – nothing seemed to wake her. To make matters worse, she had begun thrashing violently in bed since the previous night. Everyone in the castle was worried. Right from the servants each and every one of them wanted for their rescuer to awaken safely.

Ever since the convulsions started, Wynne had to be present constantly and she needed at least three others to hold Solona in place until the violent episodes subsided. From all that had happened, Wynne could gather this much: Solona was dreaming and possibly facing some threat. What she was unable to determine is why she was unable to awaken. Normally, smelling salts or intense physical sensations would be able to draw out even the soundest of sleepers into the realm of consciousness. The only time when such methods would fail was when a demon had the dreamer entranced. But even so, it had been an entire day since Solona was supposedly caught in a demon's trap. One of two things should have happened by now: either Solona should have become an abomination or she should have awoken. As far as Wynne's understanding was concerned, the only other condition when such a thing could happen to a dreaming mage seemed inapplicable to Solona, for if it were applicable, Solona would surely have mentioned being tormented in her dreams by many, many demons and with increasing frequency over time.

Wynne had even tried to confirm her hypothesis by asking Alistair, the person Solona was closest to, about any such thing and, not surprisingly, Alistair knew of no such dreams. Additionally, the darkspawn taint had also rendered the pre-requisite for this last explanation nearly implausible.

Time quickly flew by as Wynne kept pondering over this new anomalous condition that Solona was in. Her fits had become more regular and Wynne grew more worried. Solona's heart beat was unsteady since the last episode and that did not bode well. It had been quite some time since Solona had had her last convulsion and Wynne and the others were expecting their patient to experience another fit very soon.

A few moments later, Solona had started to stir and that marked the beginning of what could be her last few minutes alive. Things were dire and the healers had to do their best to sustain Solona. In mere seconds the fit had reached its peak. She kicked, writhed and screamed with her heart growing consistently unsteady. Wynne monitored her condition while the others held Solona down minimizing any chances of further damage and soon the episode seemed to culminate. Solona's movements slowed down and she screamed no longer. When her body finally stopped moving, however, it was discovered that her heart too had stopped beating. Panic stricken, Wynne's helpers tried their best to revive her. No amount of revival spells seemed to work and hope dwindled quickly. Just when everyone had given up hope, Wynne tried an unconventional method of revival, something reserved for extreme cases only – a little zap of lightning.

Carefully she focused a few sparks of lightning at her finger tips and held her hands on Solona's chest, forcing the electricity to course into Solona's heart. A few seconds passed and fortunately for them, Solona's eyes flew open and she gasped for fresh air.

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><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>A few parting thoughts -

1) The dream sequence is of significance.

2) I have equated the abilities of healers of DAO world to paramedics from the real world. Their magic is like first aid and this is in accordance with Riordan's comment when he is freed from Arl of Denerim's dungeon. He mentions requiring a 'physician' not a 'healer' in order to be able to recover. (just thought I'd explain myself)

Do leave a few comments guys. I seriously need some feedback here. Please PM me or, in case you're happy with the way I'm proceeding do leave me a review. I would really appreciate it. How about some of those approval points for the author? ;)

Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading.


	9. Chapter 7 : Aftermath part 2

**Author Notes: **Surprise again! I was amazed at how quickly I could finish this second part. It's short, but this is all I want to have in this part.

Oh, one more thing: **I will be greatly modifying the canon events from this point onward to suit my story. I will include events of Awakening and spoilers will be present. **

Hope you like it.

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><p>Urthemiel was dead. The fifth Blight was quelled. Was it not therefore expected of the people to be elated beyond their wildest imagination? Of course it was, and that is exactly what the Fereldens were doing.<p>

Celebrations were being planned everywhere, at the Gnawed Noble tavern, at the Pearl and, most importantly, at the Royal Palace. The people were getting impatient to meet their new king and their savior. It was decided therefore, that the coronation would take place as soon as Alistair and the Warden Commander were able. Three whole days the people spent in anticipation when finally there was an announcement. The ceremony was to take place the next day. With so little time to prepare, the servants and nobles at the Royal Palace had been working tirelessly, until hours before the auspicious morning when they finally got some time to rest. The silence of the night had filled the entire palace and everybody was asleep, well, almost everybody.

Somewhere on the upper floors of the palace, the soon to be king was sneaking about trying to get away from the drudgery of his royal duties. Ever since the end of the battle, his majesty, contrary to expectations, was being ordered around to do wasteful work by his, _sort of _uncle, Eamon Guerrin. Meeting the nobles, the first of Alistair's menial tasks, entailed engaging in idle chitchat, tolerating snobbery and flattering some not-so-flattering women. What followed was worse than scouring pots in the Chantry during his templar training – reading about Ferelden polity. Barely three days in Cailan's shoes and already Alistair was wishing he had said 'no' to the throne. But like a stubborn child, Alistair was incorrigible. His life was dedicated to making mischief and going against the rules. That is how it had been and, Maker willing, that is how it would remain forever more.

Quietly Alistair walked in the hallway, hoping that no one would catch him roaming about so late at night. The following morning was his big day, after all. He was certain that he would be forced back into his room, if caught, and that would completely ruin all his plans for the night.

It was a long journey, he reckoned, to get to Solona's room, all the way down the corridor past the rooms of all his companions. He walked with hushed steps and just when he thought he had reached her room uneventfully, there came a voice, "Going somewhere, your highness?"

For a second, Alistair thought that he had been caught but, soon enough he understood who was talking to him – "Why yes, I am. Now, do be a good Crow and go spy on someone else."

Zevran chuckled in response. Casually he walked over to him and spoke like a seductive woman – "Oh, dear Alistair, how I wish I could spy on you and catch you in a compromising position. But, our Warden is a little too lovely for me to ignore. So tell me, have you come to spy on me by any chance?"

The irritation showed on Alistair's face – "No, I have not. And now, if you would please excuse me…" He was eager to leave before someone else woke up and came looking.

"I certainly would like to, my friend, but I must warn you: don't go," Zevran replied, suddenly all serious. That was odd, but Alistair decided to ignore that last comment and walked away quickly. Moments later, he found himself in front of Solona's room, grinning to himself happily. '_At last!' _he thought, and stepped inside.

The door closed behind him with a muffled thud and he saw Solona with her back turned towards the door, stuffing things into a rather small bag.

"Oh, I'm ready. I'll be right out," she said, as the last of her items was secured inside the pack.

"There's no need for that. I'd rather the world does not come to know our little tryst," said Alistair looking smug. Quickly Solona spun around looking nervous.

"Alistair, what're you doing here?" she asked with a shaky voice.

"Oh, I was trying to get away from Arl Eamon and I thought that I could, maybe, ravish in you in celebration if I succeeded."

Before Solona could respond to him, Alistair caught her in his arms and kissed her like there was no tomorrow. Blood rushed to every part of his body and he knew one thing for certain: He was happy, unlike ever before. He felt grateful. Of all the possible outcomes, this was the least expected and it was the best. Loghain had been punished for his crimes. The kingdom was saved from despotic Anora. Both he and Solona had survived and they were together. The Maker must have willed for it to happen, he thought. It was truly meant to be. Otherwise things wouldn't have turned out the way they did.

"I love you so much," he whispered when he finally broke the kiss, breathless and ecstatic. Passions were running high and his body begged for hers. Again he kissed her and slowly began to move his hands over her neck, working his way down, savoring every bit as he went along. Oh, Andraste, he had found heaven!

Barely seconds had passed since Alistair had started to revel in his new found joy when he could feel Solona trying to push him away.

"I…I can't do this," she said, attempting to break free.

"I'm not giving you a choice here," he sniggered, "If you resist, then I'm afraid I'll have to use my Templar skills." Now was the perfect time for 'games', he thought, and Solona was the perfect playmate.

For too long he had stopped himself. For too long he had resisted. There had been so many times when he had wanted to be with Solona, but circumstances did not grant him the opportunity. He was afraid of what the Arl would think of him, what the Landsmeet would think of him. All the while he had suppressed his desires for fear of the world. Not any more though. He was king now. He could do whatever he wanted and right then, he wanted his woman. He could feel her breathing heavily as he caressed every inch of her body. She was warm to the touch and that excited him. She shivered every time his hands slid over her smooth skin and, by the Maker, did he ever love it.

"Alistair, please…stop," Solona protested.

"I have to go," she said, and Alistair merely groaned. So focused he was on disrobing his little prize that Solona had to push him away with all her might in order to get his attention.

"Whoa! Alright, I'm sorry!" he said as he backed off, completely submitting to her will.

That was rather abrupt, Alistair thought. Solona was never one to behave this way. It would seem that he was yet to know of this facet of Solona. Was something bothering her? Had he done something to annoy her?

"I suppose we could do this another time," he said trying to ease the tension, but she did not react. Instead, Solona went straight for her bag and headed for the door. That was more odd behavior.

"So, where are you going and when will you be back?" he queried, attempting once more to calm her down in case he had upset her somehow.

"I'm going to the Circle," Solona said slowly, with her face turned away.

_Progress. _She talked and that had to be a good thing, right? – "Okay, so when are you going to return?"

There was a long silence after that, but Alistair thought it better to not repeat the question, lest Solona should get even more upset. He waited patiently and a few moments later, she opened her mouth and said something inaudible.

"I didn't quite catch that," he said, moving closer.

"Never," she announced, loud and clear.

Maybe it was some brand of mage comedy, wondered Alistair. He was confused now. Was she really trying to be funny? It certainly didn't seem so, but he had to make sure – "What?"

He reached for her, and the instant his hands landed on her shoulder he felt magical energy surging through his body. Almost immediately after, he realized that his fingers were becoming numb, his limbs were growing weak and his eyelids were so heavy. He fell to his knees and it was as if a shroud of drowsiness was cast over him. He had no energy left. He could not protest and he fell on the floor completely. The lights had faded and he thought he heard the words, 'I'm sorry'. Then all grew quiet.

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><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>Let me apologize if this part was too short, but as I have mentioned earlier, this is all of the relevant stuff.

Additionally, since I have been unexpectedly fast this time, I think I should get some incentive to, maybe, do this more often don't you think?

Do review or leave me a PM with criticism/feedback and thanks again for reading.


	10. Chapter 8 : Keepsake part 1

**Author Notes: **Happy valentine's Day y'all. This is a present from my side to all my readers with special thanks to **ninaluvsathena **for the beautiful review.

Happy reading.

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><p>The life of a king was never an easy one and Alistair already knew that. What he did not know, however, was the amount of difficulty he would have to face in order to lead a nation. But, as always, he had little to worry about considering that fate and Arl Eamon were determined to show Alistair the ugly truth of being on top.<p>

'You have no friends', 'It is your duty', and 'There is no room for personal feelings' were some of Arl Eamon's favorite statements and Alistair had come to despise his luck. Almost everything Arl Eamon had to say was true. There was no room for personal feeling, especially when personal feelings were about justice and fair play. And it was his duty to see to it that the nobles were content even if it was at the cost of the common people, so that Ferelden could remain united. The one thing that Arl Eamon had been wrong about was friends. Alistair had friends, well, _a_ friend, actually. Every night he would seek out his new friend when he was no longer needed in court, and let off all his pent up frustration. In this new friend, Alistair found solace, peace and, best of all, he had found profound strength. Nothing in the world – not money, not power, not even the most seductive woman – could match the kind of comfort this friend could offer. Absolutely nothing could hope to take the place of liquor in Alistair's life. Ah yes, liquor was indeed every man's best friend, especially in tough times.

After sundown, his majesty was usually found in his study, not reading, not working, but drowning himself in self-pity. Tonight was a special night, however. Tonight warranted that some of the best spirits be consumed, for it was on this day a month ago, that his angel, his beloved had left him all alone to face the hardships of life. She had forsaken him, left him bereft of happiness, of hope and of love after having promised to hold him, to sooth his pain and to support him when he needed it. Although he had felt her loss since the day she had left, today was exceptionally difficult. No matter how hard he tried, his memories seemed resolute on reminding him of her –

"_Alistair!" said a familiar voice. _

"_Alistair, wake up. You're late for the ceremony," the man said. It sounded like Teagan but Alistair could not see him. It felt unreal, like it was all happening in a dream. A few moments of silence followed and then suddenly, Alistair felt like he had been thrown into the chilling waters of the Amaranthine Ocean. He could feel himself moving his arms and legs, trying to remain afloat, and when his eyes finally fluttered open, he could see Teagan peering down at him. _

"_Thank the Maker that you've awoken," he said, while heaving a sigh of relief, "Come on, there is no time. Everyone is waiting for you at the grand hall." _

_Alistair was still disoriented. He couldn't tell where he was or why he was cold and wet. He was trying hard to recollect what had come to pass and how he had ended up where he was, and slowly it all started to come back to him. He remembered trying to meet Solona and he remembered how she had refused his advances. It had all started playing back in his mind. Solona said she was about to go to the Circle and then all went black. The last thing he could recall, was hearing the words 'I'm sorry'. _

'_Had she truly left?' he wondered. _

_He was still too groggy and failed to notice that a whole bunch of servants had rushed inside and that he was being dragged over to his room. Within minutes he was bathed and he was clothed in some of the finest fabrics, ones that smelled like exotic flowers and felt like silk. On top of it all was the king's ceremonial armor, made of metals that shone like gold and were studded with precious stones. And when he was ready, a huge mirror was placed before him so that he could appreciate the finery, for now, he truly looked like a king._

_But the thought recurred, 'Had she truly left?'_

"_Yes, that's good. Now let us be off. The Revered Mother awaits as does the entire nation," said Teagan, and His Majesty-to-be was escorted into the grand hall. The ceremony was quick and with Arl Eamon's guidance, Alistair pulled it off with grace. No one in the crowd could suspect that their king was actually prone to bouts of clumsiness, especially when racked with anxiety, such as, during his coronation._

_All was proceeding well. Nobles and dignitaries alike were pleased to see that their nation had a new ruler and Alistair waved at the crowd, as if in appreciation of their support. However, he was actually searching for Solona. He could spot each and every one of his companions, but she was nowhere to be seen. _

_People had gathered in the hundreds before the royal palace to see their new ruler. They rejoiced when he had shown himself and then the entire afternoon had gone by as His Highness made his first public appearance. Still, she was missing. _

_When nightfall came and everyone in the castle found themselves relieved of the pressures of conducting such a grand ritual, Alistair sought Teagan and decided to find out where exactly Solona was. Could she truly have left?_

"_Teagan, could I have a moment?" Alistair asked, still unsure._

"_Of course, Your Majesty," he said._

"_Well, I…was wondering if you know where Sol…I mean, the Warden Commander is," Alistair asked, trying to seem as casual as possible. _

"_Oh, she left for the Circle early this morning. But, I thought you already knew this, Your Majesty," Teagan replied and his words had left Alistair stunned. She had indeed left. _

_A multitude of thoughts raced in Alistair's mind as he tried to calm his frenzied self. Was he dreaming? Was this a nightmare? 'Please, Maker, let this be a nightmare!' he hoped. But he did not seem to wake from it and with every passing minute, a sense of despair loomed, growing ever larger and edging ever closer to him. So caught he was in his emotions that he did not realize that Teagan was calling out to him again. _

"_Your Highness!" he said, firmly and when Alistair's attention seemed to have returned he said, "I forgot to give this to you earlier today," and produced a small wooden box. _

"_A servant found this in the morning, lying somewhere beside you while you were still asleep. It has your name on it," Teagan said and handed the box over to him._

_Alistair was still too shaken to say anything to Teagan and accepted the box without a word. The box was familiar. It belonged to her and she had carved his name on it. Unthinking, he opened the box only to be left shattered. For within the box lay the object that she would never part with, an object that he had presented to her and one that she adored. The rose – the thing that had symbolized their love until then – was now dead and grey. _

He could take no more. He closed his eyes shut and gulped down every last drop of wine in his glass, trying not to think of the rose, of her. But memories were a curse and she was the only thing on his mind. The more he thought about her, the more it angered him; the more it angered him, the more he drank; the more he drank, the more numb he felt.

'No more!', he thought.

So many days he had spent thinking of 'why' and 'how' she had left him, so many days he had wasted wondering about how he loved her, that he was disgusted. She meant so much him, but even so she had left him. However, there was no point in wallowing in sadness any longer. He was not a simple boy in love with a girl. He was king and there were more important things to focus on. Since Solona had so callously pushed him out of her life, he felt it just to repay her in kind. And so it was decided. Once the wine in the jar was finished, he threw the jar to the wall and swore never to mention her again. Never again. From that moment on, Solona Amell meant nothing to him.

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><p><strong>Author Notes:<strong>

I hope I didn't spoil your mood with this :D .

A few parting thought's from Alistair (in present day context and in light of the developments of this story) :

_Couples celebrate one day in a year, single people celebrate the other 364._

****Thanks for reading and I am still open to critiques and reviews.


	11. Chapter 8 : Keepsake part 2

**Author Notes: **Hi again, people! Today, I turn 23 and this is the new chapter; a little treat from my side to you guys for being so patient and supportive.

_**Note: **_

_This is to remind you that I am taking **a lot of liberty** with the story-line and there may be a few things that **conflict with what David Gaider said or wrote** in the Dragon Age books. I will try my best to limit any such contradictions to a minimum, but since I have not read the books myself, **I cannot guarantee anything**._

Happy reading.

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><p>"Oh Maker," sighed Irving while poring over a huge pile of documents – requests for assistance, deeds, acknowledgements and what not. It was late at night, but his work was only just beginning. Although the Circle's renown was at an all time high and its coffers were overflowing, the mages were not exactly happy, especially the First Enchanter. He had only been through a couple of documents when disinterest had started to take its toll on him. A break was much needed, he thought, and coincidentally there was a knock on the door.<p>

"Come in," he said, preparing to put on a serious expression. But when he saw Wynne entering, he pushed aside the mountain of papers before him and stood up to greet his fellow mage.

"Are you busy, Irving?" she asked in her usual manner.

"Ah, Wynne, I can never be too busy to talk to an old friend. So what brings you here? Have you finally reconsidered my offer of becoming First Enchanter?" he asked happily.

"You're too kind, Irving, and no, I am merely visiting. The Crown had some business in Orzammar and while I was in the area, I thought that I could perhaps drop by before returning," replied Wynne.

Her response elicited a snort from the First Enchanter – "I should have known that you wouldn't go back on your word to assist the king. But I need to find a replacement and fast, for I honestly do not believe I have it in me to carry on like this."

Both Wynne and the First Enchanter had a lot to discuss and a long conversation resulted.

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><p>Another day of study and training young apprentices had passed. Exhaustion was its peak and Solona wanted to rest. Having changed into her nightclothes, she took to her potions one last time before going to bed.<p>

An entire month she had spent in the tower since her return after the Blight. Much as she had expected, the Circle was glad, no, eager to have her back. Her heroism in rescuing the Circle from the Right of Annulment and the entire nation from the Blight had earned her the position of Senior Enchanter, the youngest ever in the history of independent Ferelden. Additionally, since she was also the Commander of the Grey in the country, her words and judgment carried great weight in the world. She was, thus, the most iconic and influential mage in the whole nation – an asset, meant to be exploited as best as possible.

Each day, more and more number of people would come to the Circle hoping to have their problems solved, but all of them demanded that Solona oversee the entire process herself. Despite her achievements, people did not trust mages. They trusted her and her alone. While some people could be convinced to accept assistance from other mages of the Circle, there were those who were stubborn and propagandistic. But it did not matter anymore. Nothing did. There was no reason for her to please nobles for she needed neither their money nor their political support. There were no wars to be fought and she was no longer in the company of royal bastards meant to be put on the throne. All she wanted now, was to live peacefully for as long as the darkspawn taint would permit.

But life had become so difficult. She was denied even the simple pleasures such as having a decent meal and a good night's sleep. Her body rejected almost everything she ate and at night came her dreams, oh Maker, those terrible dreams.

Every night she recalled her time during the Blight. Even though the whole country was on the verge of annihilation, even though there was death and destruction everywhere, the past year had been the best time of her life.

A few more minutes passed as she mixed reagents to prepare a particularly obnoxious smelling potion and then it was ready. All that she had to do was to wait for it to cool before gulping it down and hopefully she would sleep a dreamless sleep, without demons or any other form of interruption. A few more moments, she thought, when suddenly there was loud banging on her door.

"Just a minute!," she announced to whoever it was and scampered to open the door.

"Open up this instant, young lady!" a woman barked.

"Wynne, is that really you?" Solona wondered. It was the most bizarre thing that had happened to her in over a month. Senior Enchanter Wynne was at her doorstep in the middle of the night and she sounded upset. She fumbled with the latch while Wynne kept pounding on the door.

Once the door was open, Solona asked, confused, "What're you doing here?"

"Young lady, when exactly were you going to tell me about your nightmares?" Wynne questioned as she stomped inside, with her angry eyes shining like embers.

Solona was a little more than just surprised – "How do you know of my dreams?" she wondered.

"I will be the one asking questions here," Wynne declared, "How could you keep this from me? What if something were to happen to you? What if you had died?"

"Wha-what do my dreams have to do with that?" Solona grew ever more bewildered, "What are you saying? I don't understand."

Wynne remained silent for quite some time, looking at Solona, studying her. From the look on Solona's face it seemed like she truly did not know, and suddenly everything that Irving had told her had started to make sense -

_About an hour had passed since Wynne had arrived in the Circle Tower and the First Enchanter was so full of news. _

"_Oh, Wynne, if we only had this kind of money and recognition before, we would not have faced the kind of persecution as we did. We have more gold now than we did in the past decade, all ten years put together!" he said. _

"_But you don't seem too happy about it, Irving."_

_The First Enchanter complained, "How can I be happy? I am First Enchanter, not a book-keeper. My work is to teach magic and train mages, not to manage the Circle's funds or settle disputes between lords. Ever since Amell returned, however, people expect me to run the Circle like a tavern – making sure that we have enough money and material to go around - trying to please the nobles that come crying."_

_Wynne smiled and said, "It was expected, that the Hero of Ferelden would attract a lot of attention. You have now to deal with both the good and bad of having such a wonderful mage at your side, Irving." _

"_What you say is true, but sometimes I wonder if the Circle truly is the place for her to be," Irving said thoughtfully, "You know, Wynne, for the Hero of Ferelden, she certainly is rather frail." _

"_Frail? You would call the savior of the nation, not to mention the savior of the Circle, frail?" Wynne asked trying hard to suppress her laughter. _

_Irving looked serious, "Certainly, I would. She does not eat or sleep like the others do. In fact, almost a fifth of the lyrium we have bought in the past month was for her. Potions are her sustenance." _

_That was the strangest thing Wynne had heard in a long time -_ "_What manner of potions?" she asked, suddenly curious._

"_From the ingredients she uses, it would seem like she prepares some manner of sedatives, or tranquilizing potions and health supplements," replied Irving. He looked worried for some reason and spoke in a whisper, "She gets sick almost every day and spews almost everything she consumes."_

_Wynne was listening attentively. The things that Irving was telling her reminded her of the incident in the royal palace, just after the Blight. "But why would Amell need sedatives and health supplements?" she asked attempting to solicit the First Enchanter's opinion on the matter. _

"_As I see it, there are only two explanations: either the fighting and the Blight have rendered Amell very weak, or…" he paused, looking exceptionally troubled._

_Wynne recalled her own confusion at Solona's strange condition. It was obvious that the First Enchanter thought along the same lines as she did. But Wynne knew something about Solona that the First Enchanter did not. "I know what you are thinking, Irving, but I have reason to believe that the alternative is not possible," she said confidently. _

"_No, Wynne, I am positive. There are only so many uses for tranquilizers, not the least of which is to prevent nightmares. Now, add to it her use of health supplements. That only strengthens the argument." _

_Wynne considered the First Enchanter's words carefully and he did have a valid point. The only weak link in the argument was that Solona had not mentioned having nightmares. But that did not eliminate the possibility that she had been experiencing them. _

"_Are you certain?" she asked one last time. _

"_I am indeed," he replied and Wynne grew distressed._

"_But, if it were true, then why didn't she tell me? There has to be some explanation," she argued. It was so hard for her to accept that Solona had not told her of her dreams. She thought that Solona trusted her and she had hoped that Solona would come to her in times of need. After all, they had been teacher and student for such a long time. _

"_Perhaps," said Irving, "Perhaps, Amell did not want to trouble you with her dreams. What with the Blight and everything, I assume she thought it best to deal with her problems alone." _

_Suddenly, the explanation that Wynne had deemed implausible seemed to be the correct answer to the many questions that had bothered her. There was no mistake. It was all clear now and Wynne's concern had now transformed into anger. _

"_That foolish child!" she howled, "Hero or not, I am going to march to her room right now. She has a lot of explaining to do." And with that Wynne had left, fuming. Even the First Enchanter could not hope to save Amell now. _

Although Wynne had planned to lecture Amell on her recklessness, the fact that she was unaware of her own condition made Wynne soften. "Have you no idea how dangerous it is to do what you're doing?" she asked, a lot calmer this time.

"I really do not know what you're talking about. What is so dangerous about dreaming? Except the thing about becoming an abomination, I mean," Solona replied, trying to brush aside the issue.

"Oh, Maker," sighed Wynne and sat down at a table, "Tell me, have you noticed anything strange, apart from the nightmares?"

That was an odd question, thought Solona – "Um, well, I remain tired for most of the day and I can't eat anything because I throw up fairly frequently, and that's about it, I guess," Solona said.

"There must be something more, think harder," urged Wynne.

"Well, now that you've mentioned it…" Solona replied, thoughtfully, but immediately after, she furrowed her eyebrows and grew suspicious. "Hey, wait a minute, what is this about? Why all this interrogation? Are you hiding something?"

For several seconds Wynne looked at Solona and began slowly, "Do you know where babies come from?"

The question was both funny and unexpected. But the intent of the question did not escape Solona. Instantaneously, she was able to connect all her symptoms to being pregnant. After all, she had read about it countless number of times. Healers were taught to treat mothers-to-be with special care. However, to think that she was pregnant was preposterous – "Oh, wait, you think that I'm…What? No! That's not possible."

"Your symptoms are typical. There is no mistake," Wynne said, looking Solona dead in the eye, "Solona, you are with child."

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><p><strong>Author Notes: If you guys have the Soldier's peak DLC, then I suggest you play it and familiarize yourselves with its contents.<strong>

Hope yous guys enjoyed this chapter. Do leave a PM or review or anything if you so feel and if you have the time.

Thanks again for reading.


	12. Chapter 9 : Outsider

**Author Notes: **Hello readers and subscribers! This chapter marks the beginning of the larger plot of this story. I hope you like it.

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><p>"Ah, so this is Ferelden. Very nice…dog country," he said with a voice full of annoyance.<p>

"I bid you welcome, sire. I hope your journey was not too unpleasant?" Hesta said, as she bowed before her master and received only a snort in return.

"Are you certain that this is the place? That this is where the incident occurred?" he asked; disdain still dripping from his every word.

"Actually, my lord, the incident took place in Denerim, capital of this…charming country," Hesta replied earnestly.

Her master was clearly unimpressed with what he saw before him. The city of Gwaren was far worse than what he had expected. After all, he had hoped one of Ferelden's most important port cities to have better facilities. What he beheld, however, was a city that was in shambles. Most of the piers in the harbor were about to breakdown, ships needed repairs, the workers at the docks were lazy, not to mention, careless with the cargo and everything smelled of wet dog.

"I always thought my cousin was a tad unintelligent, but to have chosen this country over the rest of Thedas is sheer lunacy!"

Hesta couldn't agree more. From the moment she had set foot in Ferelden about a week ago, she could not understand how the people could live in a land littered with beasts and garbage. And to make matters worse was the weather, ever so damp and cold. However, the most intriguing thing about Ferelden was not the deplorable living conditions of the natives, but that it was home to some very formidable people.

A few more minutes passed as Hesta and her master tried their level best to ignore the strong canine stench burning their nasal tract. The more her master eyed the surroundings the more disgust swelled within him. His servants had just about finished unloading his rather lavish boat and it was not a moment too soon. With quick steps he moved towards the carriage that Hesta had arranged for them and in a matter of minutes the carriage sped away.

It was a long journey back to the mansion where Hesta had made arrangements for them to stay and there was a lot that they had to discuss.

"Tell me, why is it that we are here, in Gwaren, while the incident took place in Denerim?" the master asked, curious. Unless his objective lay closer to Gwaren than to Denerim, there was no reason for them to be where they were at that time, he thought. He had no intention of extending his trip in a backward nation such as Ferelden and he eyed his underling, hoping that she had a very good explanation.

Over the past week, Hesta had managed to collect a lot of information about the recent happenings in Ferelden. Most of the news was about the Blight, one that escaped the notice of almost all of Thedas. SHe was more concerned with how much of it her master would find useful.

"Well…sire..." she said, hesitant and fearful.

Her master merely squinted and she began to tremble for he was not one to tolerate incompetence. He only ever had two things to offer: rewards for a job well done or punishment, the severest possible, for anything falling short of his expectations.

"We know that the one we are looking for is a woman named Solona Amell," Hesta replied slowly.

"…and…she is here?" he asked, his facial expression tending to irritation.

"…No, sir. She is currently in the Circle of Magi which is on the other side of this country," Hesta replied, "But there is something else, your lordship. This country has just recovered from a Blight and she was the one to lead them against the darkspawn. Solona Amell is the Grey Warden Commander for Ferelden."

"…Warden Commander and a mage…" the master mused. Soon, his expression softened and he spoke thoughtfully, "This might turn out to be a lot more interesting than I had thought initially. Regardless, stay on her trail and keep me informed about everything. I will tell you what to do and when to do it."

"Of course, your lordship," Hesta answered, relieved that she was not about to be punished.

"And what is the situation with the shipments?" he asked, surprisingly calmly. However, Hesta became tense once more. For the condition of their business was not good at all.

"With the unfortunate incident at Denerim, sire, we have lost all our sources. All of our contacts refuse to deal with us, citing that the business has become too risky. Reestablishing the entire network will not only take time, but we will also need someone capable to restore our dealers' confidence."

"I see…I will leave the job to you, then. But since you have no experience in the matter, I will assist you. Just do not fail me, Hesta. Or else your fate shall be far worse than that of your predecessor," he said, smiling, and Hesta's blood curdled. The rest of the journey was filled with an eerie silence.

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><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>I'm sorry for the short chapter after a long wait, but I had a lot to plan and this is the best way to proceed, in my opinion.

I hope I have been sufficiently vague with here since I didn't want to give anything away too soon. =]

Please leave me a message if this chapter did intrigue you guys. I would appreciate it greatly.

Also, the next chapter will be up by the end of this week (as compensation for this rather short entry). Thanks for reading.

(I really hope I am disappointing anyone with the way things are proceeding...do let me know if I am right in thinking so)


	13. Chapter 10 : Betrayal

**Author Notes: **Hey there! Extremely sorry for the delay. But I've been...occupied...with...stuff...

Anyway, this is the next chapter. Hope it does not disappoint.

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><p>"Your symptoms are typical. There is no mistake. You are with child," Wynne said, looking Solona dead in the eye.<p>

The words had left Solona stunned. It was worse than any templar's smite she had ever encountered. Wynne had to shake Solona out of her stupor, quite literally.

"Are you all right?" Wynne asked, suddenly unsure of what had come to pass. Solona merely slumped on her bed with downcast eyes and an expression of disbelief spread across her face. Not a single word escaped her lips in what seemed like an hour and Wynne could do nothing but watch.

"This is…not possible," Solona reiterated, "I cannot…**cannot**…ever have a child. I am barren and you are wrong, I'm sure."

Once again, Wynne was forced to doubt her conclusions, but this time the issue could be resolved easily. Since the matter was open, she could easily diagnose Solona's condition – whether the nightmares were truly a result of the taint, or of something more.

"All right, let us be certain then," she said and took Solona's hand in her own. Carefully she placed her fingers around Solona's wrist and closed her eyes, trying hard to focus. It took a few second for her to drown the noise made by her own thoughts, but eventually she could hear it – the typical beat of a person's heart. The rhythm was perfect and normal. The silence of the night made it that much more pleasant to listen to and then, when Wynne was completely absorbed she could hear another set of beats, soft and mildly irregular. Her eyes opened slowly and she observed Solona's breathing. Every time she inhaled, the second set of beats grew faster and they slowed down every time she exhaled – just like the heartbeat of a child. It was wonderful.

Perhaps it was Wynne's maternal instinct, or perhaps it was her grandmotherly instinct, but she smiled softly at Solona. She was very happy to know that her student, one she had lived with and helped raise, was going to become a parent. What made her even happier was that it was probably Alistair's child that Solona carried – the child of someone who was so much like her own son. "Now, put your hand right here and tell me if you can hear it," she said.

"This is pointless," Solona grumbled. She was certain that she would hear nothing but her own beating heart and placed her finger on the spot most casually. A few seconds passed as Solona was yet to hear the second set of beats. "See, I told you. I can't…" she said, her voice suddenly disappearing towards the end, only to reemerge moments later "…hear another heart…"

Wynne was momentarily puzzled, but Solona's face revealed very clearly what she was feeling at that moment – confusion and disbelief. Evidently Solona had heard that which she was so intent upon denying. Slowly Solona looked up at Wynne, the bewilderment now visible in her eyes in the form of swirling questions.

"How…when…? But why…" Solona mumbled, seemingly upset.

It was certainly an unusual reaction, reckoned Wynne. After all, she had seen so many of her fellow mages becoming parents during her lifetime and none of them had ever appeared disturbed at the thought of having a child. Regardless, she decided to let Solona rest. Perhaps the matter would sink in overnight and she would be all right in the morning.

"Now is not the time for questions, child. You need to rest and don't bother with those potions. You are in safe hands," Wynne urged. It was amazing how the end of the Blight had actually marked the onset of immense joy in her life and the lives of many she had come to hold dear. The Maker sure did work in mysterious ways.

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><p>A whole three weeks had passed since Solona had learned of her condition. A whole three weeks she had spent trying to understand why things had turned out the way they did. Making her way to Soldier's peak, wounded, bleeding and with weakened Wynne by her side, she came to think of all that had come to pass. How ironic the events of the past few days were, she thought.<p>

_Peace of mind was lost to her ever since she found out about her child – Alistair's child. Sleepless nights were followed by days of withdrawal. Panic stricken, she couldn't focus on any of her duties in the circle, spending all her time contemplating instead and the theories she had come up with so far, were nothing if not unpleasant. _

_For the first few days she was genuinely confused – happy and hysterically tense at the same time. After having lived most of her life never considering even the chance of being involved with someone romantically, the realization that things had gone far, far beyond was quite a shock. It took a lot of getting used to but eventually she had come to accept that she indeed was with child. What followed was a lot of planning about how to go ahead. _

_Should she have this child? Or should she not? _

_In the event that she did end up having the child, wouldn't the Chantry just take it away from her? Would she be able to handle the loss? _

_What would Alistair think? Should she tell him?_

_The first, instinctive answer that she could come up with was that she should have the child and that she should tell Alistair about it as soon as she could. Who knew, perhaps he would reconsider marrying her. After all, why he refused to get married was because he feared that they would not be able to have children together, right? _

_A simple explanation was never good enough, however, and her obnoxiously inquisitive nature led her to the question – Why did Alistair say that they could not have children in the first place? And if it was indeed the case, that two Grey Wardens couldn't have children with each other, then how in the Maker's name could she be pregnant? That too with __**his**__ child? _

'_Could he have lied?' she wondered. _

'_No! There is no way he could lie about something so serious,' she thought._

_But then, if he wasn't lying and if he did love her, why did he try to end their relationship so quickly after the landsmeet? The least he could have done was to see where life led them. Solona would have agreed to end the relationship if it truly was not feasible for them to carry on. She was a reasonable woman and Alistair knew this to be so. Then why did he not wait to see what happened? _

_There could only be so many reasons – two, to be honest – either that Alistair was angry at her for making him king, or, that they never were what she thought they were. _

_In the two weeks that had passed since then, Solona was convinced that Alistair, the love of her life, had lied to her and the reason did not matter. It was similar to murder, she reckoned – knowing the motive behind the killing could not mitigate the severity of the crime, nor could it bring the dead back to life. But this situation, much like murder, provoked justice. It provoked vengeance. And what better vengeance than to make Alistair live with the truth of having sired a bastard child, much like King Maric had sired him. The fact that this child would be born of a mage would only add to the humiliation, the frustration that Alistair would come to face in future. A fitting punishment it would be. _

How ironic, she thought, that the Maker should not only curse her with magic, but go to the extent of constantly tormenting her with darkspawn, impending death and bereavement. Furthermore, when she felt it time to seek some kind of fairness, the Maker made sure that she would not have her way. No matter how much she tried to live her life as best as possible, there was always something new and nasty waiting just around the corner.

Regret and sorrow were beginning to weigh her down and she could feel her knees growing weak. The snowy path that Levi Dryden had shown her was not an easy one to navigate. It was cold, dark and gloomy. It was too much, and she could feel her body beg for some rest and some healing. But it was not possible, not when they were in an ice filled passageway with snow pouring from above. They had to push on.

If only Wynne hadn't used the power of her spirit guardian, she would have been in a condition to heal both of them. At least they would not be wounded. But then, if she hadn't used the power of the spirit, they would not have survived. Again, Solona did not know what to think. Was it irony once more that she should be left alive to face the many horrors that the Maker had in store for her? Or, was it good luck that she had lived to fight another day? She truly could not decide.

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><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>Just so you guys know, almost all chapter in future will be short (because I don't want to confuse you guys...I think I can do a great job of confusing people...) Anyway, I will try to upload the next one sooner. But I cannot say for certain.

Hope you liked it and thanks for reading.

P.S. Reviews, comments, critiques, PMs are always welcome!


	14. Chapter 11 : Failure

**Author Notes: **Hey there! Next chapter is up. This has another new character. Hope you guys aren't losing interest with all the new fellas showin' up.

All written content, whether letters, diary entries, excerpts from books or what-not will be center aligned, enclosed within **!**-**!** and will be in italics. An example is present in this chapter. Do remember the convention.

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><p>"Search everywhere. We are not leaving until I know that they're dead," said a man covered in blood not his own. He bore swords in both hands and was exceptionally sinewy. The authority with which he spoke conveyed that he was the leader of that little band of brigands. Dressed in light leather armor with war paint covering every inch of his face, he paced, while his subordinates searched the surroundings. Lifeless bodies were scattered about for several yards and from their appearance they seemed to have belonged to the same faction as all the others left alive. It was almost like a little war had burst out in the wilderness. The only anomaly was that there were no enemies to be seen, not even dead ones.<p>

"How many'd we lose?" the leader inquired.

"Fif'een," was the reply from one of his brothers in arms, "…some of the fines', too. There's just six of us left now."

"Just six? That it?" he asked, baffled, and there was but a slow nod in response. The leader was clearly upset. It was one thing to be defeated and completely another to be almost wiped out. "What about the templar that was supposed to be workin' with us? Is he dead too?"

"He was barely alive by the time the fighting stopped. I don't think he could still be alive. Not after what tha' mage threw at him," said the other fellow.

It was certainly not the kind of thing he had hoped for. Being the leader of a gang of assassins, their ability being second only to the Crows, Cathair certainly had thought of two women targets as easy money. But was he ever wrong.

"Damn mages!" he cursed, while thinking of the gold that was slipping from his grasp. "Since when have two women become strong enough to take us on?" he yelled, "I will rip their heads off with my bare hands, especially that o' the old crone!"

Sometime later, when Cathair's anger had subsided and the sun was ready to set, one of his underlings reported back. "There's nothing left behind, no one," he said.

"What do you mean nothing?"

"We've searched everywhere right up to the point where the path is blocked by the rockslide. There was nothing there, not even blood," the underling said.

"You mean to tell me that an old hag and another half dead woman just vanished into thin air?" He was annoyed beyond anything the underling had ever seen. "N-No, they're gone," the subordinate stuttered, afraid of how Cathair would react. Much against what he thought however, Cathair remained reasonably calm.

"Boys, pack up. We're going to pay our client in Gwaren a visit," he announced loud and clear. There was something that his client was going to have to clarify.

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><p>"You have a message, milady," said a young courier and shoved a letter in Hesta's hands. It was about time, she thought. Her master was getting rather impatient. It had been two weeks since he had arrived in Ferelden and there were no signs of any progress. Another day of waiting for the master would cost Hesta something dear to her, maybe her head, or, some other body parts, should he feel unusually creative. Her future now lay within the crumpled letter in her hands. The message inside could potentially determine whether she would live to see the next day unharmed.<p>

With baited breath she opened the letter wanting nothing more than to read of success. Instead, a most unexpected message lay inside.

**_!_**

_Come to the warehouse in the alleyways by the shipyard at midnight. Important things to be discussed._

_- Shadows_

**_!_**

She did not understand why such a message had been sent. Surely, if they had failed, they would not be alive. But if they had succeeded, why did they simply not come and collect their fee? Was this a trick? Had the enemy traced the Shadows back to her? It was possible, but there was no way to know for sure. With no other option left, Hesta informed two of her master's guard to accompany her to the warehouse. If it was indeed an ambush, then she would not be alone.

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><p>Cathair and the remaining Shadows waited for their client to turn up. It was just past midnight, he reckoned. The whole city was asleep with the exception of the city guard. Even so, the alleyways were a safe place and nefarious people went about their business fearlessly.<p>

"They're here," one of the shadows announced to Cathair and he followed him back to meet their guests. He recalled how lovely his client was, a real beauty if he ever saw one. Tall, slim, with clear blue eyes and long blond hair pulled back into a tight bun – the kind of woman every man dreams of. As the woman came into view, Cathair was almost awestruck. Unlike the last time they had met, she was dressed in mage robes, the kind that he had never seen before. Her long legs were in clear view and her icy glare was enticing as ever. But there was something about her, something very sinister and that meant trouble. Also, she was not alone this time. There were three others with her – capable and strong.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked plainly.

"You see, milady," Cathair began, "When you contracted us, you said that we were to deal with two women."

"Yes, I know. Has the job been done?" the woman asked, impatient.

"Not so fast, milady," Cathair's voice was suddenly very serious. He decided to drop the diplomacy and got straight to the point. "You never mentioned that those two women were mages and very powerful ones at that."

"That did not seem important to me," she replied contemptuously.

Cathair remembered seeing the mangled corpses of his companions and his blood was boiling. Her casual attitude and ineptitude had not only cost them their assignment but it had also cost a lot of men their lives. However, death was part and parcel of their work and he did not wish to raise that issue. "Clearly, you have never hired assassins before," he said, "But, no matter. We will finish the job for you provided you renegotiate the terms of our agreement."

"What's this? You couldn't handle two women and you're asking me to pay you more? For the kind of incompetence you've shown?" the woman seemed annoyed.

"What was displayed," Cathair said with a raised voice, "…was not our incompetence at killing people, but your lack of common sense. It is your job as the client to provide us with all the information about the target. Either you do that, or, you ask us to find out for ourselves and we charge more for the extra effort."

His anger was becoming difficult to control and Cathair could feel himself losing his hold over his senses. All his fellow mates were already glaring at the woman, grinding their teeth, trying to stay calm. He continued, "In your foolish attempt to save some coin, you've cost us a lot of people and you've lost your target. So, unless you renegotiate the contract, I don't see why we should work for you."

"I refuse. I will not stand by as fools go about using words they do not understand," the woman said, her pride visible in her crystal-like eyes.

It was nothing Cathair had not considered. In fact, he had almost anticipated the woman to refuse. What was unexpected however was the way his fellow mates would react.

"You bitch," one of them screamed out, his rage-filled voice echoing throughout the building. "You cost us our people all because of your mistake and you don't even admit it! I will kill you for that!" The minute he had announced his intentions all the other Shadows joined in. What was supposed to be a peaceful discussion had quickly turned ugly.

"No!" Cathair gasped, but it was too late. The woman had already started casting all manner of spells and her associates were tearing through the Shadows. He had no choice and jumped in to defend his brothers.

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><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>

TRIVIA: Cathair is Irish/Gaelic for warrior/battle-man.

The next chapter will be almost one year into the future. So, be prepared for the leap.

Do review or PM me…

Looking forward to hearing from you guys and thanks for reading.


	15. Chapter 12 : King

**Author Notes: **A little error on my part. I was going to present something else when I remembered that there was another very important part that I was supposed to introduce - a new character, to be precise. Do read up about Bann Ceorlic on DA wiki. There were two and both are important for this chapter. It's no biggie even if you don't read because it will be explained in future…only, I don't know when exactly.

Additionally, I have not read the books and the DA wikia does not give the name of Bann Ceorlic's lands. My searches only revealed that Bann Ceorlic is supposed to rule over what was (at some point in time on the wikia) referred to as the Southern bannorn. I will be using this name to denote his lands until I can find out the real name from someone who has read Stolen Throne.

If you are reading this and have read stolen throne and KNOW the name of the aforementioned lands, please do PM me and let me know. This is important. Thanks.

TRIVIA: **B**annorn = collection of all the lands belonging to _**all**_ Banns in the interior of Ferelden;

**b**annorn = lands of _**a**_ Bann.

Sorry for the delay and I hope this isn't boring you guys to tears.

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><p>How well could a man with no experience or willingness, blessed merely with skill, manage a whole nation? Quite well, actually. At least, such was the case with King Alistair. The bastard son, raised in a Chantry and recruited as a Grey Warden, was much better at his job than people had expected. But much of Alistair's success was attributed to Eamon, the king's chief advisor, and his brother Teagan, now Arl of Redcliffe.<p>

Nearly two years had passed since Ferelden's people were beset by the abominable darkspawn and their defender, Loghain Mac Tir, had turned his back on their rescuers, the Grey Wardens. They had come a long way since then, however. Now, the country was in good hands, no doubt, but its people were still plagued with unrest and no one really knew why. The king was good, he was doing his job. So what if his methods were a little unconventional, right? Right?

Wrong.

Being a good king had more to it than the minstrels managed to capture in their songs. Talking of bravery and strength was like glossing over the details of what being a king really meant. There were a lot of nuances that could only be understood with experience. It was politics. And politics, according to Alistair, bordered on deception. Keeping the citizens happy, being just and looking out for the prosperity of the nation formed an insignificant portion of the king's duties. But Alistair's dogged adherence to morality and fairness, which obviously had no place in politics, would not weaken. In fact, they had worked to strengthen his resolve and that only made things worse. Trouble was brewing and he was increasingly turning a blind eye towards them.

Right from the start, there was some resistance, subtle, but ever present. Alistair's decision to give the Hahren of an alienage the right to attend court and put forth the concerns of the elves of the country was unprecedented and the idea was hugely unpopular among the human nobility. Likewise, his habit of drinking in local taverns and disregard for class, status and tradition also contributed to the displeasure of the elites of Ferelden. "Your Majesty, this is unacceptable!" was a phrase that Alistair had come to hear only too often and had, consequently, come to ignore. Such was his dedication to his values and principles.

Soon after, more problems started to surface and people had started to rake up old wounds, their favorite being the one about lack of proof that Alistair was indeed Maric's son. Eamon's assurance was suspect. While in the first few months since he had taken up office, there were merely whispers doing the rounds, over time the situation had grown out of control. Every other day Alistair would hear about several men and sometimes even women, claiming to be Maric's illegitimate children. Though most of the time it was humans making the claim, sometimes it was even elves with the occasional dwarf or two.

Ridiculous though the situation was, one thing was for certain: no one wanted Alistair on the throne, except Eamon, Teagan and probably a handful others. Even though the majority of the Bannorn had agreed to make him the ruler at the Landsmeet, most of them were beginning to express dissatisfaction at the decision. For at that point in time, a consensus had to be reached quickly and the choice was between two people, neither of whom could be deemed worthy without being properly evaluated had the situation not been exceptional. Meaning that supporting Alistair during the Landsmeet had been a convenience at the time, a convenience which was no longer felt, especially given the kind of policies he had put in place.

And this in no way was the end of Alistair's troubles.

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><p>"That will be all," His Majesty, King Alistair said to his audience and the court was adjourned. Everyone bowed to him as he rose to his feet, some pleased, others disgruntled. They turned around without a word and began to leave. Another day was finally at an end.<p>

It was a long walk back to his study – two floors above the grand hall, to be precise, but Alistair was always eager to go there. In the entire palace, no, in the entire kingdom there was only one place where Alistair would gladly spend his time – the study. For one thing, it provided him comfort comparable, perhaps, to a mother's lap. Even though all the day's real work began in the evening, after court hours, the fact that he didn't have to listen to people whine about practically everything made him look forward to it. Now, add to it all the wonderful drinks that lay on the shelves and in the cupboards of the study. They always made the nights much more pleasant. Over the past year as king, Alistair had truly come to understand Oghren's love of spirits.

"Good evening, Your Majesty", said one of the guards stationed outside the room and Alistair nodded in acknowledgment before he stepped inside. Pleased at having reached his sanctuary, Alistair sought his most favorite wine. With a golden goblet in one hand and a flask of his favorite drink in the other, he went for his desk. As usual, the desk had letters and other documents neatly piled and sorted. The important ones were always placed prominently in front and the less important ones were usually at the bottom. Before he could get to looking at them, however, there was a knock at the door and the visitor took the liberty of coming inside before Alistair permitted entry. It was Teagan.

"Hello there, Teagan, I wasn't expecting you," Alistair said. Teagan bowed slightly and began, "I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but we have a problem."

"Oh, come now, we're not in court anymore. Please don't call me 'Your Majesty'," Alistair replied with a pleasant smile. "Anyway, have a seat, have some wine and tell me, what's the matter?"

But before Teagan could start explaining, Eamon rushed inside with another man, a soldier.

"Eamon, what…what's going on here?" Alistair was confused now.

"The matter is getting out of control now, Alistair," Eamon was stern.

Alistair took a moment and studied the soldier with him. The armor was pretty regular looking. There was nothing out of place, he thought, until his eyes fell upon the crest on the soldier's shield.

"Oh Maker, not this again," Alistair frowned and set his glass down with a thud, "I have said this before and I'll say it again: We have sent as men as we could from Denerim. We cannot spare any more men for Amaranthine!"

Eamon was calm but he was also determined to knock some sense into his _sort-of_ nephew. "Alistair, Amaranthine has a darkspawn problem that the regular army cannot solve. We need the Grey Wardens!"

Alistair was peeved. "They have all the Wardens that are there in Ferelden right now, all twelve of them! You cannot expect me to ask Empress Celene to send more!" he barked.

Eamon was on the verge of losing his patience. "We still have the Hero of Ferelden, why haven't you sent her?"

Merely a split second later, Alistair rose from his seat and looked away. He had no answers, no excuses to give to Eamon. What could he say: that he had sworn never to have anything to do with her again? That he didn't need her help to take care of the country?

"Your Majesty, this is beyond our control. We must let the Wardens handle the issue," Teagan jumped in after sensing the rising tension.

Alistair had always known that such a day would come. In the back of his mind, he always had the fear that there will come a time when he would have to face her again. There were some things in life that were nothing if not predictable.

"Your Majesty?" Eamon pressed.

"You really think one woman can do what twelve seasoned wardens and several soldiers could not?" Alistair mocked. It was one last ditch effort.

Teagan responded with a smile, "I think you know what that _one woman_ is capable of better than anyone else." And he was right. If anyone knew what Solona Amell could really accomplish, it was him.

Alistair squinted but he had admitted defeat. "All right, fine!" he said.

"I'll send a missive at once," Teagan declared and left hurriedly. The soldier from Amaranthine followed him. Eamon, however, waited and watched Alistair carefully. It was obvious that something was bothering the younger man.

"Is something bothering you?" he asked.

"No. Of course not, what could possibly bother me?" Alistair had masked his feelings again and he wore a smile.

Eamon could not tell if the lad was being honest. Increasingly, it seemed, that Alistair's moods and sarcasm were becoming difficult to detect. It was certainly not a good sign. But Eamon decided to leave it at that, for now. Without further ado, he too was gone.

Several moments passed and Alistair's wineglass had remained where he had so roughly placed it. The wine too was left unconsumed. The letters on his desk remained untouched and he hadn't done so much as even blink. He was lost in his thoughts, of anger, grief and regret. Even though they had been away from each other for a nearly a year, he knew deep within his heart that he still longed for her; a longing that he would not allow himself to satisfy; because she had lied to him and left him when he needed her the most.

The foul mood seemed to be getting stronger when there was another knock on the door. It was enough to distract Alistair for a while. "Come in," he said.

At the door he found Tristan, son of Bann Ceorlic of the Southern bannorn. He looked rather troubled and that was nothing to be excited about.

"What can I do for you, Tristan?" Alistair asked in a tired and slow voice.

"I've just come to tell you that there is another mob ready to rally on the streets of my city."

Alistair looked at the man with concern. Tristan was clearly worried but he spoke with an even tone.

"More and more people are asking that my father step down and threats have been issued," he said.

Ever since Loghain had been executed, people of the Southern bannorn had expressed their dissatisfaction at the poor leadership skills that Bann Ceorlic had displayed. Very few among his subjects could understand that there were immense pressures on him and that he had not _chosen_ to side with Loghain. It was forced upon him.

Issues that the people had been too scared to raise while Loghain was still alive and the Blight clawed at their lands were now on the lips of every man and woman in the bannorn. The allegations that were piled on Loghain, ones that led to his execution, had now become Bann Ceorlic's burdens. What the last of the Grey Wardens had not known during the Blight was that Loghain had actually allowed Tevinter slavers to operate in any part of the country they saw fit, so long as they could fund his war effort. Bann Ceorlic's lands were one of the worst affected. And now, with Loghain gone, the people felt bold enough to complain and to blame Bann Ceorlic for everything.

"You must send troops to our lands, Your Majesty. This cannot continue," Tristan's anger at the injustice his father was facing was beginning to show.

"All right," Alistair said. He understood very well that Tristan was distressed and that he was not in the right state of mind to think carefully. "I will issue the order. You will have your troops in about a week's time."

"That is not good enough," Tristan banged his fists on Alistair's desk as he spoke. "We need them now, or else…or else…" His control over his emotions was clearly weakening.

"Calm down, Tristan. I understand your situation, but we have very few soldiers left to spare and they will not be able to reach your city in less than a week. I'm afraid this is the best we can do," Alistair added softly.

Alistair could see the anger surge in Tristan's eyes once more. But it seemed like he did empathize. Slowly he lifted his hands off of the desk and gathered his composure. "Very well, thank you, Your Majesty," Tristan uttered slowly.

With a slight bow he reached for the door and closed it behind him as he left.

* * *

><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>Hey…one last thing: For those of you who are wondering, Bann Ceorlic is the guy that always sides with Loghain in the landsmeet.

Tristan is a fabrication, a creation of yours truly... :)

Since I have not read the books, I don't know if Bann Ceorlic has any children and so I will proceed with the rest of my fic with Tristan.

TRIVIA: Tristan in Welsh/Gaelic means tumult. But I am relying upon the Latin influence on the name, which has now rendered the meaning to tend towards 'sorrowful'.

Tristan became popular as a name because of the story "Tristan and Iseult". Iseult is alternatively spelled 'Yseult' or *drumming* 'Isolde'… :P

Hope you liked this one. Do PM me, comment or critique and thank again for reading. Ciao.

**P.S. Please forgive any typos. I don't have a beta reader and generally do all the editing myself. **


	16. Chapter 13 : Identity part 1

**Author Notes: **Hey…

I have only just come to the realization that filling in the details is a lot more complicated than I had initially thought.

Also, thanks to Nina and the others. If it wasn't for you guys I would probably have stopped writing a long time ago.

Anyway, read the prelude once more. I have made a few changes…I don't think you'll notice the changes but even so, do go through it again. It'll help you make sense out of this chappie.

* * *

><p>Solona Amell was in her little chamber in the mages' quarters, preparing for another day of teaching apprentices. Solona knew that she wasn't one gifted with patience enough to teach the children and opted instead to teach the older ones, teenagers. They were easier to deal with, she reasoned, and the ones beyond reason certainly proved amenable when punishment was the only alternative.<p>

It was a day like any other, still a little early and almost time for one of the experienced healers, Floris, to come and take a look at her. It was a meaningless task, she thought, but the First Enchanter always insisted that someone check up on her 'condition', whatever that was.

Floris was in as usual and found Solona ready and waiting for her ritual interrogation. "So how are you feeling this morning?" Floris asked and moved to a chair near Solona's bed.

"A little bored because you'll ask me the same old questions, otherwise, just fine," Solona replied with her characteristic impersonal tone and a contrasting smile. The check up lasted just for a few minutes and for a change, Floris had actually spared her the questions. Perhaps she was convinced that Solona was not ailing from whatever it was that Irving feared.

"All right, you seem to be well. I should leave you to your duties then," Floris announced and proceeded towards the door. "Oh, I almost forgot, the First Enchanter wants to see you," she added before she turned around and left.

By the time Solona could ask for more details, Floris had already skittered off. A sigh escaped her lips and she gathered her things before leaving for the First Enchanter's chambers. Just as she stepped outside, she saw Cullen waiting for her much like every other day since her alleged return after the Blight. Only the Maker knew why she had a personal templar guard while even the First Enchanter didn't get one.

"Good morning," he wished and Solona simply nodded in response. The walk to the First Enchanter's chambers was as short as the lifespan of a mayfly and Irving was ready and waiting.

"You wanted to see me, First Enchanter?" Solona had entered the room to face a worried looking Irving.

"Oh, senior Amell, I'm glad you came so quickly. There is a matter of great urgency that needs to be discussed." Irving motioned her to take a seat. Cullen was with them and watched silently. After going through a pile of papers, Irving produced a letter with the king's seal on it and handed it to her.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Read it, it's for you."

Solona could very well guess that Irving knew the contents of the letter. "I know you know what's inside. You wouldn't have called me otherwise."

Irving frowned, but decided there was no point in delaying things. "Very well," he said, "The king wishes that you go to Amaranthine city on Grey Warden business."

The news was sensational, if nothing else. Solona was amazed that the king would call upon her, specifically, and address her in a letter. "You know," she spoke with a chuckle, "I always thought you were lying when you said that I was a Grey Warden and that I saved Ferelden. And I'm still not convinced." Once her laughter had subsided she added a tad more seriously, "Either there was some truth to your words, or this is the largest, most intricate demonic conspiracy ever planned in the Fade."

It was all too confusing for Cullen, though. Anything even remotely related to the Fade or demons always reminded him of Uldred and his insurgence. He was beginning to shift uneasily and talks of a conspiracy didn't make him feel any better. "What are you talking about, First Enchanter? Is there a problem here?" he asked, trying very hard to conceal his anxiety.

"Oh, no, it's just a little joke, Cullen. Please do not worry," Irving smiled at him but Cullen wasn't convinced just yet.

"Okay, the king wants me in Amaranthine," Solona rose from the chair, "I should head out as soon as possible, don't you think?"

Clearly, Irving didn't agree with her. "You will do no such thing," he said, sounding almost upset.

"Why not?" Solona was puzzled. "The king has ordered me to go and you're asking me not to?"

"This is not a Blight," Irving argued, "We cannot have one so soon, and _you_ are in no condition to go and fight darkspawn or do whatever else it is that Grey Wardens do."

She was miffed. Why was the First Enchanter unwilling to send her when, clearly, the King – the highest authority in the country – wanted her to resume her duties as a Warden? Citing reasons of an elusive illness that no one, save Irving, knew anything about was not compelling enough. Even Floris – who had been monitoring her health for the past so many months – could not find anything wrong with her. To top it all off, Solona had no recollection of even completing her harrowing, let alone falling ill after **a Blight**. But the forgetfulness too, Irving said, was a consequence of her ailment. None of it made any sense. In fact, the more she thought about the events of the recent past, the more likely it seemed that someone was toying with her.

"Then why did you bother to inform me of this letter when you had no intention of complying with the request?" Solona asked, irate.

"Because I asked him to," said Knight Commander Greagoir as he made his way towards her. "This letter reached us some time back but the First Enchanter did not wish to reveal anything to you. However, I have with me, here, a second letter from the king which includes orders from the Revered Mother of the Grand Cathedral in Denerim asking me to send you as soon as possible."

The Knight Commander shifted his accusatory gaze towards the now surprised looking First Enchanter. "It seems that His Majesty thought we templars had grown too fond of you and didn't want you leaving us," he added scornfully.

A long silence followed as the First Enchanter gritted his teeth at his inability to influence the situation and the Knight Commander spoke privately with Cullen. Though the matter was resolved and it seemed that Solona would be moving out of the tower for quite some time, the situation was far from intelligible. But, as always, there was nothing she could do about it.

"You will be leaving tomorrow," Knight Commander Greagoir announced from the entrance as he prepared to leave with Cullen hot on his heels. Solona stood motionless, unaffected. At that moment she felt about as powerful and in control of her life as a dried up autumn leaf drifting in a fast flowing river. Shortly after, she left for class. It was one place - perhaps the only place - where logic and reason took precedence over all else. The prospect of forgetting the many random, inexplicable occurrences of the day, at least for a little while, made her somewhat happy.

* * *

><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>I will publish the second part of this chapter in a little while. I'm sorry if I'm taking too much time. I'm finding it difficult to write/give details without seeing the problems with the explanation. I want to maintain logical consistency above all else (not surprisingly). I'll try to be faster.

I have also updated my PenName. It is now, Apostate-Mage-Lyra. I will not change this name again. Apologies for this, but it had to be done.

Anyway, hope I haven't completely murdered your interest in my story... Do PM or comment or critique.


	17. Chapter 13 : Identity part 2

The royal palace of Denerim, one would reckon, wasn't much like the more popular castles of Orlais. There were no ornate marble towers, or intricate lattice windows. As a matter of fact, there wasn't even much color difference. For the most part, the royal palace of Denerim was a mass of grey stone with occasional patches of browns and reds. But, _by the Maker_, it was huge. Standing proud and strong, at nearly thrice the size of Fort Drakon, the royal palace was visible from several miles away, provided one stood at a high enough point to observe. But that wasn't the reason why Wynne was inwardly cursing the now obscured creator of such a fine building. The castle housed some of the most important people of Ferelden and required, therefore, that its walls be thick, that the King lay as deep within as possible and that it be large – so much so, that Wynne's old legs would ache even at the thought of going to court. But she was sincere and she'd be there every time the King needed her and if her body was being overburdened, it was all the architect's fault.

Even today, after finishing the morning chores at her new home situated right opposite the royal palace, Wynne prepared to leave for court, all the while swearing at the architect of the gigantic edifice. On the way she was greeted by a young courier and was handed a letter with a seal of the Circle. Eagerly she opened it and began reading as she made her way towards the castle entrance.

**!**

_My dear friend,_

_I regret to inform you that I was unable to fulfill my promise to you. Although I have kept the secret safe, I was required, in accordance with the King's request and a timely edict issued by the Revered Mother, to relinquish my authority over Senior Enchanter Solona Amell. At the King's behest, she is to leave the Circle Tower and head the Wardens of the country in Amaranthine. I'm afraid that by the time this letter reaches you, Amell will probably have reached Amaranthine. I can only guarantee that the truth of the matter will go with me to my grave. Beyond that, there is nothing I can do. I am sorry._

_- Irving_

**!**

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><p>Alistair was late for court, again. Recalling his time at the monastery, where he would get late for prayers almost every morning, a smile tugged at his lips. The days at the Chantry were infinitely better, he thought. Life was so much easier, so much simpler back then. The Chantry and his templar training, although not entirely pleasant, were still no comparison to what the Maker had tossed his way ever since Ostagar.<p>

Regardless, he set out for the grand hall and he would have made it there really quickly, too, if it weren't for Wynne. She was waiting in the hallway with the most worrisome expression ever and a little away from her stood his uncles muttering to each other in hushed voices. Otherwise, the hallway was empty.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," the enchantress wished.

"By the flames of Andraste's pyre, Wynne, you look like you had a run in with some disgruntled relatives of the Archdemon," Alistair snickered, pleased at his astounding wit.

The woman merely blinked and stood poker-faced. It took a few moments for Alistair to give up hope that someone would actually give him a pat on the back for a well timed quip, but eventually his smile vanished and a more morose expression adorned his face.

"There is something I must discuss with you, Your Majesty," she said carefully.

"Sure," he uttered sounding disappointed. "That's what I'm here for."

The older woman hesitated for a minute. "…in private, sire," she added.

Something in Wynne's voice made Alistair nervous. He wanted to relieve Wynne of her worry and he knew his uncles would agree to let them talk alone. With a simple nod Alistair signaled to his uncles to proceed to the grand hall without him. Seconds later, he decided it best to have the discussion in his study.

"Are you alright?" Alistair enquired, as he closed the door to his study behind them.

The older woman considered the statement for a while, wondering how to respond. She was not ailing from anything, so the answer should have been 'yes, I'm fine' but instead she found herself saying, "I need to know something."

"What'd you want to know?"

She exhaled hard, trying to calm herself and asked, "Have you asked Solona to go to Amaranthine?"

The question was as direct as could be, and just as unexpected. Of all the things that needed discussing, it had to be _her_. All the emotions that he'd keep locked up, only to be released at night when liquor would pacify him, were swirling right beneath the surface and swirling violently. It was as if the months had done little to dull the fires of anguish that _she_ had started.

With some measure of restraint, he uttered, "Yes, I have."

His reply elicited an immediate response from Wynne. "I urge you to, please, reconsider."

"The decision has been made, Wynne, and I cannot change it," he stated dryly.

"No, you don't understand," Wynne protested, "This is a big mistake."

"A mistake?" he scoffed, "A mistake, my dear, would be to have a Grey Warden Commander and not use her to defend the country."

"No, you don't understand, Alistair," the mage shook her head furiously. "She…"

Wynne could not go on. To suggest something so nonsensical, she thought, was pointless even if it was true. But then, what else could she do? Solona's condition was known only to two other people in the country and it wasn't exactly a run of the mill kind of condition, either.

"Well…?" he demanded, his anger now on the verge of bursting out. "She what? Got swallowed whole by a dragon, became a balmy bloodmage and got sent to prison?"

Wynne frowned. She hadn't anticipated that Alistair would react badly. His remarks were teeming with disrespect and contempt. To think that the man who would, at a time, not even consider separating from Solona would have such ireful remarks to make was flabbergasting. But she had to explain her student's situation to Alistair whether she liked it or not. "Your Majesty, it's not that…simple. I ask you to not send her to Amaranthine because she is no longer the Grey Warden you once knew," the mage spoke.

Alistair interrupted her, "Whoa, Whoa, Whoa! Once a Warden, always a Warden." He looked Wynne straight in the eye and said almost threateningly. Clearly, he was upset and his defenses couldn't hold it in any longer.

Having known as many Wardens as he did, all of whom had died horribly because of the traitorous Loghain, Alistair knew all too well that there was but one way to stop being a Warden other than being slain in battle. Bogged down by gruesome memories from the not too distant past, his breathing grew heavy. "There is only one way to get rid of the Warden title," he whispered, "…and that is to die of the taint."

Alistair clenched his fists and felt the anger in the form of pain from his nails digging into the flesh of his palm. Slowly he uncurled his fingers and placed his hands gently upon his desk, waiting for the rage to subside a little so that he could continue his conversation with Wynne.

"So," he said slowly, with his eyes fixed on his desk, "Unless she's dead, I don't see how I can reverse my decision to send her to Amaranthine. Most Wardens can't afford the luxury to sit cozily inside a well fortified tower. She's had her share of good fortune. But the country needs her now."

For a moment Wynne wanted to laugh at Alistair's comment. It was really surprising to see him employ such words for someone who risked her life to save them from a Blight. And he knew so little about Solona's ample good luck. But certain things were better left unsaid, perhaps. Certain things were better pushed into obscurity so that the unpleasantness too would die with those who held their tongues. However, to reveal matters or to conceal them was not her decision to make and so she did not go into details.

"In that case, I request that I be allowed to go to Amaranthine as well," Wynne urged in her usual manner.

"You want to go to Amaranthine just because she'll be there?" Alistair raised an eyebrow at the odd request.

"No," she replied, reminding herself to only mention what is necessary. "Solona's health requires that someone watch her, or at least be close to her in case of an emergency. When she was in the Circle, the First Enchanter had tasked someone with this job. But I fear that few outside the Circle will be able to deal with her illness."

Despite the choler, Alistair found himself growing concerned. He wondered what illness Wynne was talking about and wondered why he was never told. But it did not matter. "Fine," he said, "You are free to go."

* * *

><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>Sorry for the delay again…Next up will be Awakening. I'll try to get this moving a little faster. But this is difficult. Seriously…my initial plan is far too convoluted I guess…

Anyway, hope you liked this one and do comment, or critique. Thanks for reading.


	18. Chapter 14 : Father

**Author Notes: **Hey..sorry for the wrong info. I forgot that I had two more things that needed to be mentioned before I could get to Amell in Amaranthine. Well, anyway, here's the first. The second could take a while...I can't say just yet.

Remember Bann Ceorlic? This is an entire chapter dedicated to him. Enjoy...

* * *

><p>Summer time was unbelievably beautiful in Ferelden. The sun would show up on the horizon and tease the people down below, with its promises of gentle warmth and comfort. In the other seasons, however, it would hide behind the clouds seemingly sulking and shedding tear-like raindrops much akin to a widow unable to bear her loss. Today was an exception, though. It was a sad day in the middle of joyful summer. The sun hid behind dark clouds on this day and its tears flowed freely, like there was something it regretted, something it had to atone for.<p>

"Son, I need to tell you something," Bann Ceorlic said, as he eyed the sky above, smiling and lost in thought amidst the deafening cries of angry protestors outside his mansion. Voices of unrest thundered down below and people stood chanting, with all manner of objects in their hands. Most of them had sticks, a few had torches and some of the more rowdy fellows waved weapons in the air. The tossing of stones at the walls and at the door had already begun and it seemed like the people would not relent until they had their way. "Away with the traitors!" they cried in unison.

Tristan grew frantic, rushed with every passing moment and he felt himself slowly buckling under the pressure of the uprising. There was little on his mind, aside from the injustice against his father and anger at the politically minded bastards that had changed a mild dissatisfaction resultant of war and such, into a full blown revolt. He wiped the sweat on his brow, reminding himself that there were more important matters that needed his attention right then, like how to get out of the mansion and over to some place safer. He knew that he was strong enough to take on the whole world once his father's safety was assured. The mob, which was already banging on the large wooden doors, could easily have been dispersed if only he had more men and if his father had allowed it. There were very few soldiers left and all of them were trying their best to keep the doors from breaking, for that is all that they could do. There was so little he could influence at the moment and that frustrated him. The soldiers from the capital were far too few and even their presence could not deter the crowds. The chanting continued, the aggression remained and his father was almost unconcerned.

Several seconds he spent thinking of his father's state of mind, of their current situation and then replied, "Of course, father, but I'd rather we go somewhere safe first."

The Bann was transfixed though, and came back into reality only when he felt Tristan dragging him away from the window. But it wasn't before a well aimed stone had found its way in through the window and straight onto the Bann's forehead. The rogue that had guided the stone jeered as he threw his arms up at a successful hit and his mates joined him soon after, cheering him. Seeing his father clutching his forehead, bleeding, made Tristan's blood boil and he decided finally to put some crowd control measures in place. After bringing his father to a nearby chair and tending to his freshly received wound, he grabbed a few weapons from the rack and proceeded to leave, when he was unexpectedly stalled.

"I thought you said we could talk, son."

With a sword in one hand and a shield in the other Tristan hesitated, but came to a halt nonetheless. "I cannot talk while fools are given free rein to hurt my loved ones," he said calmly, "Please, father, wait until I am finished with them."

Bann Ceorlic, still seemingly indifferent to the rebels, ignored his son's words. "No, I don't have that kind of time. I have things to do, places to be…So, it has to be now," he said lightheartedly.

"But, father…" Tristan interrupted expressing much discontent and the Bann ignored him again.

"Have I ever told you about my father, your grandfather Bann Ceorlic?" he asked, staring away into the distance. "When I was a young boy, I thought that my father was the strongest man in the country…" the Bann reminisced.

Tristan's patience was not to last for long. "Father, please…" he protested while raising his voice.

The Bann continued, "He was powerful. Immensely powerful…and the only thing that outstripped his power was his arrogance."

The smile on his face was now gone and he rose to get something to drink for both himself and his son. In a cupboard situated along the far wall of the room lay all the best drinks that money could buy. After a few minutes of careful pouring and mixing, the Bann presented one glass to his son and sank back in a chair with his glass neatly by his side.

Tristan was puzzled, but understood that his father valued whatever he was trying to convey. He'd never spoken about Bann Ceorlic Senior, not once. It followed, therefore, that the conversation was of significance. Watching his father's thoughtful face, he pulled up a chair across him and took a sip of his drink. It was wine, Orlesian and smooth.

The Bann took in a whiff of his fine Orlesian spirit. The lingering vapors ostensibly assisted the recalling of memories shoved into the dark corners of his mind and heart. "My father," he said - his eyes still distant and lost, "…did a lot of bad things during his time."

"Like what?" Tristan asked, curious.

"Like what…" the Bann repeated and took his first sip. The drink in the Bann's glass, although similar in appearance to what Tristan had, must have been stronger for the older man grimaced and coughed a little.

"My father," he continued after clearing his throat, "…was very loyal to his Orlesian overlords. He had pledged his conscience in exchange for their favor and I being ignorant of politics back then, blindly believed that my father could never err."

Tristan watched that bemusing smile return to his father's face and again, he coughed after drinking from his glass.

"But I erred in my judgment and so did he. My father betrayed his country, got the Rebel Queen Moira murdered and planned to dispose of the rightful king, Maric Theirin, along with any of his rebel allies, like Loghain Mac Tir. His vanity was too far gone and he could not see the error of his ways. And though Maric had escaped, my father did not give up."

Tristan was wide-eyed with shock. "You mean…" he uttered with a shaky voice, unable to complete his sentence.

The Bann looked at his son and his smile widened. "Yes, I do," he said.

The entire world was seemingly plunged into an all encompassing silence and for the next several minutes, both father and son said nothing.

"Well, after his escape, Maric planned revenge and all the while my father rejoiced at what he thought of as a suppressed rebellion." The Bann's voice grew weak. "But history has testified and I have witnessed, that my father died a traitor's death. A death I consider well-deserved, to be honest," he added with a hint of sadness and fatigue.

Tristan looked at his father, appalled. The expression on his face was not hard for his father to read, though. "Do not mistake me, my boy," he said, "I loved my father just as you do me. But he was wrong and he deserved to die for his crimes. I grieved at his death, but I had come to accept his fate and my own very early on."

The Bann took a last big sip and gulped down every last drop of the wine, coughing as it slid down his throat. After putting away his glass, he slowly rose to his feet with some difficulty and tried to walk over to Tristan. "But I've always regretted one thing," he said in a voice laden with emotion. "I could not stop my father from going down the wrong path. I was too weak."

Making his way towards his son, he stumbled and fell to his knees while his coughing grew worse. "I was too afraid of what my father would do to me if I opposed him and so I never objected, knowing all the while that he was wrong," he said.

Tristan rushed to his father's side and wondered about the ever increasing coughing. "Please father, do not speak," he urged.

"No," the Bann replied, "No, my boy. I have always been too quiet. I was too quiet around my father because of fear. And today, if my people are angry with me, it is because I was too quiet even around Loghain because of that very same fear." As the Bann continued to speak, droplets of blood started to emerge from the corner of his mouth and his breathing grew labored.

Alarmed, Tristan called out to the guards outside their room. "Someone get a healer! Hurry!" he yelled out and held his father.

"I knew that Loghain was wrong. I knew what he had done to the Wardens and I knew what he was doing to our people. But I was too afraid to oppose him. Afraid…of what he'd to me…to you," the Bann added with ever increasing amounts of blood pouring out.

"Father, please do not strain yourself. Please!" Tristan grew worried.

Not long after, the Bann felt the darkness growing around the corner of his eyes and his vision was failing him.

"You did the right thing, father. Please do not be swayed by those gutless halfwits outside!" Tristan could feel fear grip his own heart now. His father was getting worse and there was no sign of a healer. A few soldiers had gathered around trying their best to move Bann Ceorlic over to a small bed by the window side. But hope dwindled with every passing second.

"My only regret, son, is that I was a coward," the Ban managed to say, as his mouth was beginning to fill up with his own blood.

"I was a bad son and a bad leader, Tristan. But I know you are like your grandfather. Strong willed and capable, not like me. Just don't let arrogance blind you and do not fear to do the right thing, my boy," the Bann expressed. His body could sustain him no longer and he could feel his end approaching. One last time he attempted to look out the window and coincidentally, the sun was out in the open, radiant and smiling on a happy summer day.

A wave of satisfaction washed over him, even in pain, and he knew that he had done all he could to atone for his mistakes in life. The darkness was fast approaching and the light was speeding away from his sight. Deciding that the last image he wanted to have in his mind was that of his only son, the Bann looked at Tristan and whispered with an earnest smile, "Be strong, my boy."

* * *

><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>This chapter is important if you intend to follow this story.

A word of caution: My story is very convoluted and, quite possibly, very long. So, bear with me.

I hope you liked this one and thanks for reading. Comments and critiques are always welcome... :)


	19. Chapter 15 : Beginning part 1

**Author Notes: **Hi there!

I'm really sorry for such a long gap. I have a gazillion excuses, but I don't think I'll be presenting any. I'm just sorry..and I can't promise that it won't happen again. Please do bear with me.

This is part one of a two parter.

* * *

><p>Ferelden was large although with too few people as compared to Hesta's home country, the Tevinter Imperium. The Imperium was always full of people – humans, elves, even Qunari who referred to themselves as Tal-Vashoth. Masters and slaves, killers and healers, all manner of people were spread across the nation. It was crowded. In Ferelden, by contrast, the dogs could easily outnumber their human masters and again, if it wasn't for the dogs, the country would have fallen to the Tevinters all those years ago. But now things were different and the Tevinters had bigger problems to worry about.<p>

Far from her home, stuck in a little cabin somewhere near the wilderness west of Gwaren, Hesta found herself running as fast as she could. The wild brush obstructed her path and her robes offered little protection as she raced past them. Cuts and bruises took shape on her smooth pale skin but she felt nothing. Her heart raged, beating wildly against her chest while her legs carried her to her destination.

The cabin where she was staying began to loom in the distance. It would not be long now. Her master would finally be proud of her and she would no longer need to be punished for all her failures. Yes, things were finally looking good for her.

With great speed she zoomed past the guards in front of her master's chamber. "The master must not be disturbed. You can't go in there!" one of them yelled as she sped past them ignoring them altogether. Inside she found him, sleeping peacefully. Without any care or caution she jumped onto his bed and shook him awake.

"Master Veneficus, please wake up! The deed is done!"

She was loud, too loud. But the master would not awaken. He was too deep in sleep. The comfort of the bed and the warmth of the covers were the cause, she thought and quickly pulled her master out of his bed.

The cold floor and the pair of hands rudely shaking him were finally able to loosen the grasp of sleep on him and he stirred. "Master, it is done!" he heard a voice say to him. While still groggy he managed to say, "What?"

"We have succeeded! The lord of the Southern bannorn is dead," Hesta exclaimed with eyes wide open, eager to hear some words of appreciation.

"I see," Veneficus uttered, unmoved.

Hesta waited a little longer hoping for the slightest indication that her master was pleased. Quite a few moments passed but Veneficus merely stared away at the ceiling, thinking and eventually Hesta's happiness faded away.

* * *

><p>"Wonderful…" Alistair said, more irritated than curious. Drunk, hung-over and awoken from a deep sleep late at night, both his mind and body were unwilling to cooperate. Being king was most inconvenient. His brow furrowed and it was soon followed up with a little massaging of the temples. The headache was distracting but he had no choice. "Who killed him?" he asked.<p>

"Apparently, he killed himself," said Teagan.

Alistair but groaned in response. "Of all the things he had to go do on his own, it had to be this…"

"This is serious, your Majesty," Eamon said.

"When isn't it?" Alistair added. "Knowing Tristan, I'd bet he's chopping off people's heads already. Oh Maker…"

"We must do something quickly, Your Majesty," Teagan interrupted.

Feeling tired and overwhelmed with the information he had just received, Alistair sat down at his bed while his uncles continued to look at him expectantly. Many moments passed as he contemplated his course of action. All through the last year as King, Alistair had never once imagined that he would meet one such as Tristan - one as intense, as faithful and as single-minded as him. But that was nothing to be happy about. Over time, it had become clear to Alistair that Tristan was cooperating with him not because he was King, not even because he cared about Ferelden, but because Bann Ceorlic had willed it. Tristan had been obedient and diligent because he valued his father's life and his promises very much. In the absence of his father though there was little motivation for Tristan to support Ferelden. Recalling his last meeting with the man only made the feeling of impending unpleasantness that much worse. If his memory served him well, the heir to the Southern bannorn certainly wasn't too pleased with his people back then and the death of his father, the person he valued most in life, couldn't possibly have done anything to change his disposition.

"This is not good," Alistair mumbled as he tried to think of something to do. It was clear to him that Tristan needed two things at the moment – consolation and assurance – the former on account of the death of his father and the latter to keep him from breaking the country apart.

"Alright, I've thought of something," he said, "We need to go to the Southern bannorn and have a funeral for the Bann. That'll give us an opportunity to talk to Tristan. We have to make sure that he doesn't do anything rash. Okay?"

Eamon assessed Alistair's suggestion and was pleased to see that his protégé was learning the ropes quicker than he had hoped. It was a good idea to go to Tristan and be around him to prevent him from making any mistakes. It was also the perfect opportunity for the King to tour around the Bannorn and familiarize himself with the various provinces. The impact of this tour would be tremendous. The nobles would compete amongst themselves to portray their own lands as the best in the country and that would certainly be good for the people. Everyone would benefit.

"Splendid idea, my boy!" said Eamon, "You truly are Maric's son."

The praise wasn't very well received though. "Infallible proof, indeed," he muttered to himself before discussing the details of their plan.

"Do we have any volunteers for the job then?" he asked in all seriousness, though he almost anticipated that his uncles would consider it a joke.

"You are a funny one,"Eamon smiled, "But, we must leave the laughs for later." His smile disappeared soon after and he spoke sternly, "As you suggested, your highness, a trip to the Bannorn is our best option and we should set out as soon as possible. I also realize that I am not the young man I once was and must request that I stay behind to take care of things here while you are gone. Maker willing, everything will be fine."

"Wait, you want me to go? All by myself?" Alistair was beginning to panic. If there was a reason he was comfortable in the capital, in the royal palace, it was because Eamon was always there to guide him and to make sure that he did everyting right. He couldn't imagine being king without Eamon at his side to advise.

"Do you want Ferelden to be reduced to warring states? Because that's what'll happen if I go alone," Alistair tried to coax him to reconsider.

Eamon chuckled at Alistair's choice of words. "No, I know you too well for that, lad," he said with a smile.

"Wonderful," he said apprehensively and buried his face in his hands. His uncles were satisfied with the plan though.

"Alright then," Teagan announced, "We are to set out for the Southern bannorn at the earliest. I shall inform the honor guard immediately."

But just then, Eamon's hand went up to Teagan's shoulder and he stopped his brother. "No, Teagan. You will be going to the Southern bannorn at the earliest. His Majesty will be visiting Amaranthine before all other provinces."

The statement had caught Alistair's undivided attention. "Amaranthine?! Why in the Maker's name am I to go to Amaranthine?" he asked, upset.

"My boy, I know very well that this trip is for Tristan," he explained, "But the other lords will not be too pleased if you visit only him and no one else. Besides, your trip to the various provinces has been long overdue. This way, we get two birds with one stone."

"No, that explains why I need to go visit the nobles whereas Amaranthine has none. There should be no need for me to make an appearance," Alistair argued.

"Actually, your trip to Amaranthine is for that very purpose." It was Teagan who spoke. "After the Howe's were disgraced, the arling has mostly been under the rule of a few powerful nobles. Controlling so many different people directly is a tough job for us to do from Denerim. It is best if we gave the province a new Arl."

"Or, Arlessa," Eamon corrected his brother.

"An Arlessa?" Alistair wondered until he remembered the job he had left unfinished for the last year. "You don't mean to give Amanranthine to Anora, do you?"

Both his uncles' turned towards him flabbergasted. "Don't be silly, lad. I'm old, not stupid," Eamon said, "Anora will remain in the tower, confined, until you stop procrastinating."

The answer had Alistair wondering again. 'Who else if not Anora?' He did not know of any women nobles that didn't already have their own lands. "So, who's the candidate?" he asked, clearly eager to know.

"What better candidate than the Warden!" Eamon proposed.

Alistair grimaced. "The Grey Wardens are not nobles. You know this."

"True, they are not nobles. But they are certainly capable of ruling over a province, especially if it's being threatened by darkspawn," the older man reasoned.

Alistair was annoyed once again, but he was too tired to argue any further. He knew Eamon all too well to try and convince him otherwise. When once his uncles had left his room, he thought it best to not think of his trip to the Bannorn, of darkspawn and of _her_. Sleep was the priority.

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><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>The second part is set in Amaranthine and that will mark the beginning of Awakening.

I really appreciate your support. Comment and critiques are always welcome. Feel free to PM me anytime.

Thanks for reading (...and please forgive any typos).


	20. Chapter 15 : Beginning part 2

"How much futher to Amarathine?" Alistair asked the soldier walking next to him.

"A few more hours till we reach Vigil's Keep, my lord, and probably an hour from there," replied the man.

"Great," he muttered under his breath. Why couldn't he just have rode with a few men over to Amaranthine instead of having the entire honor guard walk alongside? The question burned on in his head, although Eamon had made clear the reason. But there were questions that he never asked; those that burned on still.

'Why in the Maker's name did the Grey Wardens have to _rule_ over Amaranthine – wasn't it enough that they were given a place to rebuild? Why did Eamon propose calling Solona? Why in blazes was he to go and see them when Teagan could have done that just as well?'

It was barely afternoon. The sun was hotter than usual and the long ride was making him uneasy. A few more hours of thinking about Solona could burn his brains but he was willing to risk it. Every few seconds his thoughts wandered off to what would happen at Vigil's Keep. What would he say to her? Better yet, what would she say to him?

"Hello Alistair, I lied to you about being with you forever. I lied to you about loving you, about being there for you, about everything. I lied through my teeth but, being the idiot that you are, you fell for it,' …or," he mumbled on while imagining scenarios of the meeting to be.

The soldiers walking next to his horse were perplexed listening to Alistair talking to himself and curiosity did make it a little difficult to focus on the path ahead.

"…Hello Alistair, I finally decided to leave you because I didn't like your obsession with cheese. It was either the cheese, or, me…and I knew you'd pick cheese,' or…"

"Is he possessed, d'you think?" one of the soldiers asked another. The other one looked at Alistair for a long time before disagreeing. "Possession usually leads to things dying in the nearby area, so I don't think he's possessed," he said.

Another couple of hours passed as Alistair continued to think how the meeting would turn out while the guards tried to guess what exactly was wrong with the king. The company had approached very close to Vigil's Keep and the sight they beheld told of a situation much more dire than was perceived in Denerim. The soil was freshly dug. There were corpses of people and carcasses of dead animals strewn about.

"Holy Maker, what happened here?!" one of the guards gasped.

"Darkspawn," Alistair announced from his mount. Afterall, he was intimately familiar with what a land aflicted by darkspawn looked like – it looked much like this one did. The stench of their toxic blood filled the air and a storm seemed to be approaching. Dark clouds had begun to gather above them. They had to move quickly but, carefully. There could be darkspawn stragglers nearby, although Alistair couldn't sense any.

"Captain," Alistair called out, "How much further to Vigil's Keep?"

"Not far, Your Highness," the captain replied.

"Then I would like to leave my horse behind and scout out ahead with a few men."

"But Your Majesty, there could be darkspawn about!"

Alistair got off his ride and walked over to the front. "Of course, that's why I'm suggesting you let me go ahead. I am technically still a Grey Warden, you know."

The Captain did not approve but it mattered little before the King's wish. With a slight bow he went over to his soldiers and returned with about ten or so men.

"Will these be enough, sire?" he asked.

"It is still larger than I'm used to scouting with, but this will do nicely. Thank you, Captain," Alistair said appreciatively. "We will move ahead to Vigil's Keep while the rest of you follow at the regular pace. We will meet in the fortress."

"Your Majesty!" came a strong, feminine voice.

Alistair wasn't certain he'd heard that correctly. He spun around to see the person who'd addressed him; to no avail. They all looked the same. He looked around a little more to see if he could find someone coming over to him. Interestingly, there weren't any soldiers approaching him. There was but one templar.

"Your Majesty," the templar spoke while carefully undoing the helm, "I must go with you to Vigil's Keep."

When the helm was off, the entire company came to know – for the first time – that there was a woman in their midst. Alistair was surprised, impressed and incredibly nostalgic. Only once before had he met a woman in armor with grit enough to address a king and make demands of him; and yet, to leave the king feeling nothing but mutual respect.

"May I enquire as to the purpose?" he asked with a slight smirk hiding around the corner of his mouth.

The lady templar saw him in the eye and yet remained silent for a duration that Alistair considered too long. And in those moments, as he waited, he saw the glimpse of a woman who would simply not go down without the other person having to resort to a completely unnecessary display of authority. It was, once more, all too familiar an experience; just as unpleasant too.

"Madam, I don't want to be rude, but, I am King and you owe me an explanation," he managed to blurt out without explicitly denying her request.

By that point, the woman had had enough of keeping quiet. "I am from the Circle," she said to her king. Her eyes were now completely synchronized with Alistair's. She wanted to make sure he was listening to her every word attentively.

"I am looking for an apostate who escaped the Circle a long time ago. Not because the templars were not vigilant enough, but because the mages have started to look out for each other more." When those words blew past Alistair's ears, he felt the hands of fear closing in on his heart. And despite the words that the woman had uttered, Alistair almost heard – "The templars are after a mage who managed to escape the Circle not because she wanted to, but because she was permitted to leave, by no less than First Enchanter Irving; despite the accusations that she was accomplice to a blood mage. I am here to take her back to the Circle."

It was most certainly an item on the list of things he didn't want to hear right then; and it was good that he'd only almost heard it, not actually heard it. He was almost prepared to hear of the templars taking up arms against the mages, even though it was a mage who'd saved them during the Blight. He was almost sure he would be shocked by whatever it was the woman would say. But, oddly enough, he felt relieved that there was no surprise there.

"...and…?" he asked, while attempting to seem thoroughly underwhelmed.

"I received word from the templars at the Chantry in Amaranthine city that the apostate had been captured. The templars and I headed in each other's direction, hoping to meet somewhere midway for them to hand over the prisoner to me," the woman spoke dryly.

Alistair felt a little more comfortable after hearing that. "…and you believe the templars could be Vigil's Keep? With this apostate?"

Curtly, she said, "I do."

Even though the templar, by now, betook to thinking that the king did not take his duty towards the Maker seriously enough, Alistair was very well aware of his options – he could refuse the templars their request only if he wished to give up the throne.

"Then you are free to join us, Ser," he declared with empahsis on 'ser.' He wanted her to feel like he still held the templars in high regard.

The possibility that the templar could still be referring to the Grey Warden Commander of Ferelden was still there in Alistair's mind, but he was vastly more calm. In fact, he was almost sure that the templar would not find her apostate in Vigil's Keep. As far as he was concerned, the templar would merely be replcaing a soldier of the royal guard. Instead of 'the king and his men,' they'd be 'the king, his men and a templar.' Soon enough, he was completely alert and focused on the task of scouting for darkspawn ahead, of being a responsible leader and they went ahead to the keep.

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><p><strong>Author Notes:<strong>

EXTREMELY SORRY. T_T

I was so busy. But I promise to try and squeeze in some writing regularly. Even then, though, I could be very slow and you could probably expect an update once a month or, so.

Do comment and let me know if you want the story led a certain way. I might consider. ^_~


	21. Chapter 15 : Beginning part 3

**Author Notes: **Well, I managed to get a little more written. The problem I am facing now, is that of changing perspective. How do I talk about the same situation from the point of two people in the same chapter? I ask because, I am not a pro at writing but I want to get better at this. If any of you could help me, I'd really appreciate it.

Also, I hope you enjoy the read.

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><p>"For the Wardens!" Mhairi's voice boomed as she thrust her sword down the darkspawn's chest. A painful gasp escaped the mouth of the wretched beast and a dark liquid gushed forth from its body. The darkspawn leader was finally dead. Vigil's Keep was quiet once again. The darkspawn threat that had taken the fortress by surprise was ended and the Warden Commander found herself unable to believe any of it.<p>

So much about Solona's life had changed, and so suddenly at that. Becoming a Warden, fighting creatures as vile, as dangerous as the darkspawn and having defeated an entire army of them was something she could not reconcile with. These weren't the only unbelievale feats she had supposedly accomplished, though the others were far less fantastical. No matter who it was recounting the tales of her greatness, Solona always had that little bit of lingering doubt - How could she not know of her own achievements? Why did it not seem real? Why was there such a dark cloud over what was purportedly a year's worth of memories?

Musing over the topsy turvy nature of life right then, she felt herself getting drawn deeper into thoughts that would never occur before her harrowing. While she was lost somewhere in the depths of her own mind, her body slowly slid down to the ground with her back to the wall. And she felt a hand on her shoulder within seconds of being mildly occupied with unpleasantness. "You all right?" someone asked her.

It was Anders, being watchful of her; just as she remembered him. There was a certain beauty to the way Anders looked after her and about how this memory was still with her. On the one hand, there was a certain amount of solace in finding another friend after Jowan had gone missing under mysterious circumstances. On the other hand, were all those rumours that Jowan was a bloodmage and that she made his escape possible.

That created more problems for her. If the stories about her adventures in the previous year were true, she was responsible for letting a bloodmage free from the Circle and for letting him escape a second time, even though he was accused of poisoning the king's uncle. With Anders around, all the mage-haters she called countrymen during the Blight would want to pin his escape on her. It would be just about enough to put her behind bars for the rest of her life, assuming that luck would keep her safe from the Rite of Tranquility, or even execution. There were so many such things that she had done. Would someone put her away for it?

"Anders to Amell, Anders to Amell! Come in, Amell!"

Solona snapped out of her daze in seconds and from the oddest thing she'd heard in all her life. "What was all that?"

"Are you all right…?" Anders asked more slowly this time.

"Yes," she replied. "But what was that you just said?"

"Just a little style I invented. I used to talk to Mr. Wiggums that way when I was still in the Circle," Anders chirped back.

The answer made no sense to Solona, but she was no longer bogged down with worry. She smiled at Anders. He was always good at diverting her mind away from problems. She gestured for him to offer his hand so that she could stand up again. Her clothes had become damp from all the blood and sweat. The robes were clinging to her skin. A bath was much necessary and she was about to go downstairs to take one when another man – a survivor from Vigil's Keep – walked up to her.

"Commander, I owe you my life," he said.

With the darkspawn dead, everyone atop Vigil's Keep was beginning to let the fatigue take over their body. Oghren was already drinking from his hip flask. Anders was eyeing Mhairi while the latter began to remove her helmet. The survivor from the Keep was the only one who did not seem entirely relieved at that moment. He kept staring at the path leading to Vigil's Keep as if he was trying to see something in the distance. Within seconds, his eyes had found their target. "Soldiers on the road," he muttered. Then, turning to the Warden Commander and her companions, he said, "It seems we have more company. Hopefully, they're more hospitable than our previous guests."

Solona wiped a stray drop of sweat she found trickling down her neck while the rest readied themselves to face more hostility. Following the lead of the survivor, they all proceeded down to the gates.

The inbound soldiers too had approached the gates by the time Solona and the others could meet them. The survivor noticed that the soldiers belonged to the Royal Guard and that they were being led by a man in the most lavish plate armor anyone could ever have laid their eyes on. There was no doubting it anymore.

"It looks like I've arrived a bit late. Too bad, I rather miss the whole darkspawn killing thing," said the man in the extravagant attire. But before anyone could respond to it properly, someone gasped – "King Alistair!"

Solona was preoccupied but the words 'King' and 'Alistair' coming together had snatched back her attention. Solona turned in the direction of the voice to find Mhairi preparing to pay obeisance. It was certainly the kind of thing a soldier was expected to do when meeting the king of the country. Solona quickly did the same thing. She knelt down and stared at the dirt below. From all that Wynne and the others had told her, there were two Grey Wardens who made it out alive from Ostagar. The first was she and the second was a man – a templar – named Alistair. It was certainly an interesting coincidence that her Warden companion shared his name with the king of the nation. And it would be even more interesting if the two men were indeed the same person.

After a few moments of kneeling, Solona started to rise to feet, unable to curb her curiosity. As she rose, Solona made sure to observe as much about King Alistair as possible. She looked at him carefully, until her eyes met the king's. He said, "I wanted to come and give the Wardens a formal welcome. I dcertainly wasn't expecting this. What's the situation?"

From the way the king looked at her, Solona was sure that the he was addressing her. But all her words were lost to a strange feeling of deja vu. The man before her had a familiar face, an oddly beautiful voice and eyes that had put her in a trance. His eyes, they were happy and angry and sad all at the same time. It seemed more likely, now, that she had known King Alistair as more than just her king.

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><p><strong>Author Notes: <strong>Thanks for reading. Do review or PM if you can help me with my predicament, or, if you liked the story so far. :)


	22. Chapter 15 : Beginning part 4

**Author Notes: **eh, I manaed another one. At least this completes a good portion of what I wanted to show with respect to Alistair and Solona had changed over the past few months.

:sigh: hope you enjoy reading.

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><p>Alistair had thought much about how he would feel when he'd meet Solona after all the pain she had caused him; and after finally seeing her standing before him, he realized that he could never have imagined feeling a mixture of every emotion known to him.<p>

There was anger - he was upset over the way Solona had left him. There was fear - he worried for her safety from the templars. And there was grief – he was sad that things had come to such an unpleasant end between them. But there was also happiness – he was glad that he could meet someone who knew him as Alistair the man, and with whom he had spent many intimate moments of his life. His mother's old amulet that still hung around his neck was a token of her love. It was all very confusing.

The more Alistair looked at Solona, the more he noticed how horrible the Blight had been to her. Right then, Solona looked just like she did the first time they met at Ostagar – a full woman with sharp eyes and a temper to match. For the first time, Alistair noticed how scrawny and sickly looking she'd become by the time she'd left for the Circle. And despite all his anguish, he genuinely wanted to know how she was doing.

As a way to get Solona talking without directly addressing her, Alistair thought to ask about the darkspawn attack - "I wanted to come and give the Wardens a formal welcome. I certainly wasn't expecting this. What's the situation?" It was an indirect question to her but she did not utter a word and continued to stare at him with bewilderment in her eyes. The response Alistair was looking for came from a soldier, perhaps the Captain of Vigil's Keep. "What darksapwn remained have fled, your Majesty. The Grey Wardens who had arrived from Orlais appear to be either dead, or missing."

Under normal circumstances, missing Grey Wardens would have been disastrous news. At the time, however, Alistair wanted merely to get Solona to talk. Then Alistair added, "Missing? As in taken by the darkspwan? Do they even do that?" with the less than the appropriate amount of urgency in his voice.

The soldier responded yet again, "I do not know, your Majesty. I know only that we cannot account for all the wardens."

The news was bad, but Alistair was disappointed because Solona would not talk. His patience was running thin. "I see," he said, while thinking of whether or not to attempt to talk to the stubborn woman a third time. When finally he had decided to attempt for the last time, he shifted his gaze back to Solona and spoke - "At least the hero of Ferelden is still here and alive. That's something, right?"

"Try not to look so disappointed." She had responded at last.

Surprised and elated that Solona had finally spoken to him, Alistair teased, "I'll get over it. I'm sure." And before anyone could even suspect that the king was not interested in darkspawn at the time, he announced, "You have quite the task ahead of you. Really, I'd like to help you fight the darkspwan. But you're on your own for the moment."

"Hey, what am I? chopped nug livers?" howled Oghren from beside Solona. It was only then that Alistair had noticed that master of spirits and ex-travelling companion. While he was still making up a good response, he heard the other man in their midst speak. "From the smell, that's not a bad guess."

It was certainly one of the funniest responses that could possibly be issued. Alistair had almost chuckled out loud. As he stood inwardly appreciating the comment, his eyes darted to the man who had just spoken. This man was blonde, funny and he held Solona's hand – much like how Alistair himself before the corronation. A pang of jealousy shot through his body and although the conversation continued among the others, he could not pay attention, until the lady templar from the scouting party had walked up to his side. "King Alistair, your Majesty, beware. This man is a dangerous criminal."

Alistair assumed the woman was referring to Oghren. He uttered, "Oh, the dwarf is a bit of an ass, but I wouldnt go that…" when he was cut off by the only other blonde person in that group. "She means me," the man said.

"This is the apostate whom I was in the process of bringing back to circle to face justice," declared the templar.

The blonde man interjected, "Oh please, the things you people know about justice would fit into a thimble. I'll just escape again anyhow." He seemed confident that he would escape. But the templar would not have it. She protested, "Never, I'll see you hang for what you've done here, murderer."

"Murderer? But those templars were…Oh whats the use? You wont believe me anyhow," the man attempted to reason with her pursuer before giving up half way.

Alistair was shocked to say the least. Solona was with a funny, blonde man who was also an apostate. "It seems there isnt much to say. Unless you'd like to add something, commander," he said to Solona, in hopes that she would at least introduce her new lover to him.

However, Solona did not deliver on his expectations. "I do," she said, "I hereby conscript this mage into the Grey Wardens."

Alistair was incensed, but the templar reacted before he could even blink - "What? Never!"

As a means to deny his own jealousy, then, Alistair decided to grant Solona her wish. "I believe the Grey Wardens still retain the right of conscription, no? I will allow it."

At that moment, the lady templar was nothing short of apalled. She could not bear to see the king a decision in favor of a wanted apostate. But her hands were tied. Only the Grand Cleric of the Chantry in Denerim could deter the king from making such a decision and that could not be arranged. "If…if your Majesty feels it is best," she mumbled with some difficulty.

Solona and the apostate seemed quite happy with the way things had turned out. Alistair too considered this a final parting gift of sorts. Perhaps it was best that he should be with someone else. Perhaps it was time to move on. "Then if you have everything under control, I will need to take my leave," he said plainly.

"I believe the estate has been secured, yes. We have suffered great losses but the darkspawn are gone and there are survivors," interjected the soldier from the Keep. "Oh excuse my manners. I am Varel, seneschal of Vigil's Keep."

When everything was settled, Alistair said a personal little farewell to Solona - "Good Luck, Commander. May the Maker watch over you."

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><p><strong>Author Notes:<strong>

Thank you very much for your time. I really appreciate it. Reviews and suggestions are welcome.


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